


Curtain Call

by timeturners



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gay Male Character, Humor, M/M, Mainly Daisuga - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), POV First Person, Romance, don't know where I'm going with this, drama club au, like really gay, ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeturners/pseuds/timeturners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When seventeen-year-old Koushi Sugawara is forced to join the school drama club with his friends Daichi Sawamura and Asahi Azumane, he is far from happy. Along with balancing his parents’ loveless marriage, solving the mystery behind the disappearance of Ikkei Ukai, and the secrets of his sexuality, Koushi must also learn to repress a crush that has been growing on his best friend – or maybe it’s been there all along.</p><p>A high school AU about drama, friendship, family and love. (And a bunch of gay nerds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _-ˏˋ exposition ˎˊ-_
> 
> “ _The explanation of who, what, when, where and why at the beginning of a play._ ”

“Dad, do you love mum?”

The question flies out of me before I can stop myself. The words have already left my mouth, and no amount of aimless grabbing will let me take them back and stuff them in the pocket of my brain for unwanted thoughts.

My dad's a tall, fairly thin Japanese man with a strong jaw and weak, sad eyes. His hair is dyed brown from his phase ten years ago when he wanted to be as American as possible, but now wisps of grey can be seen all over. Age has taken its toll on my father and a once vibrant man now bends over paperwork daily at his desk and twirls a pen sadly in his worn fingers. My dad has a constantly concerned expression on his face – until now. He looks absolutely stunned at my question.

We're eating at the dining table. It's 7:30 am. My mum has just left to buy groceries after leaving us a warm, hot breakfast. But suddenly the toast and eggs feel cold and taste odd in my mouth.

"What do you mean, Koushi?" he asks slowly. His expression has changed from stunned back to his normal concerned face.

I splutter, fumbling for words. "I – I just mean, you guys don't hug or kiss anymore. Or even talk." Even to me, my words sound childish.

As a seventeen year old, I feel idiotic and embarrassed. But as the children of my parents, I feel justified in my question. I mean: it's true. They hardly ever speak anymore unless it's "What do you want for dinner?" or "Chicken wings, please." Let alone, show affection or call each other pet names or be disgustingly in love. They don't even seem in love. At all.

My dad looks very uncomfortable. I've only ever seen him this uncomfortable once before, when mum was explaining what periods were because I had the nerve to ask.

"Koushi," he says seriously. "You don't have to say I love you to communicate I love you. Just because we don't speak as much anymore doesn't mean we don't love each other any less. We're just very busy nowadays." He quirks an eyebrow. "There is a reason we married after all."

But there isn't even a semblance of marriage anymore. "O-Okay…"

My father sighs resignedly. "Maybe when you fall in love and get married you'll understand. Of course I love your mum. We just don't have that much time anymore."

Time. Nobody really has that much time. But isn't the fact that there's so little the reason why you have to cherish it and use it as much as possible?

He sees I'm still unconvinced. He stands up and walks over to my side of the dining table and hugs me, ruffling my silver hair. (I got it dyed with him when he was in his American Dream phase. The colour's stuck with me for a very long time now.) "I love you, Koushi. And your mother. Don't forget it."

We're almost having a moment, a touching memory, until Dad's mobile phone rings. God. I hate the sound of his ringtone, the shrill shriek and the vibration that comes along with it. It reminds me of so many other times when we've been interrupted by a new client or a promotion or some other thing that shouldn't be more important than my dad's own son. But it is, in his eyes.

"Yes, Frank Sugawara speaking," he says into the phone. Frank isn't his real name, Futoshi is. But, like I said: American wannabe phase. "OK, yes. Just one sec." He sets the phone on the table and looks at me in the eyes. "We'll talk about this later, yeah? I have to go to work soon, and you should go to school."

I hide my disappointment and shoulder my bag as I make to leave the house. "Yep, sure thing, dad. See ya."

I can tell the conversation is far from over as I exit our house and into the suburb. My father's concern over my own concern is obvious. I'm sure he wants to fabricate the picture perfect family façade even to his own child. But I'm not fooled by my parents not greeting each other in the morning, or not sleeping together anymore, or not even looking at one another.

The suburb is pretty this time of year. Cherry blossoms line every house and drop little pink petals all over the streets where I walk. They were planted years ago by the Japanese settlers who inhabited this quaint city and started a thriving community. I think of the seeds as the beginnings of the Japanese culture here in the city of Rosevale, which have grown and flourished into beautiful cherry blossom trees. I think of myself as one of the tiny petals clinging to the bark of culture. I'm hanging on as tight as I can – but can I withstand the winds of life? Or will I fall to the pavement, only to be trampled on by others?

I overthink everything and tend to not notice my surroundings. This is evident by the fact that as I ponder about life, I collide into somebody in front of me at the bus stop and trip to the floor. Fuck, I am the most inelegant thing to ever populate this earth–

"Shit – sorry!" the person says. That voice, so familiar and warm, creates a tingly feeling in my chest. "Oh, Suga, it's you! Sorry."

It's Daichi Sawamura, my best friend ever. That sounds cheesy, I know, but it is true. We've known each other for ages. We're the halves to a whole. He's seen me at my worst, and my best, and vice versa. He helps me up, grinning, and brushes off the petals sticking to my school uniform. He's less than a goddamn inch taller than me and reminds me often. He's a lot bulkier and musclier than I am, and with a much nicer smile. No wonder loads of girls flock around him.

"'S not your fault," I say gruffly. "I should've been looking where I was going."

"Yeah, you're kind of a loser," he says light heartedly, but when I don't crack a smile, he cocks his head in confusion.

There's an expression on his face that I've recognised after nearly a decade of closeness. You okay?

I nod. "There's just a lot on my mind right now."

He bites his lip. "Tell me about it later. The bus is there, it came when you fell over– fuck, it's about to leave!"

We don't miss it, thankfully. We're breathless when we stumble on. Asahi Azumane – another one of my best friends, but definitely not as close to me as Daichi – is sitting on his own, with two seats next to him. He's way taller than Daichi and I, with a mess of brown hair on his large head. He has a little goatee on his chin. A lot of the time he's worried or nervous and today's no different. He's furiously flicking through a biology textbook and we sit down next to him, curious.

"Asahi?" Daichi says. "You do realise the bio test isn't until next month?"

"The earlier you start studying, the better," he says, frenzied.

Both Daichi and I roll our eyes. Asahi's always been the most anxious out of the three of us, the worrier, the over reactor, the drama queen. It's what makes him so loveable.

The bus arrives at the school not much later. Karasuno High School is a large school with buildings, courts, classrooms, fields and facilities all around in a confusing hodgepodge that took a really long time getting used to in freshman year.

I inform my friends that us seniors have a lot of free study periods today, as I read today's schedule on my laptop. Daichi celebrates at this because of how little study he plans to do, and Asahi celebrates because of how much study he plans to do. We decide to traipse into the library and claim a bunch of seats to longue in for the rest of the day.

Karasuno High's library is normally filled with heaps of annoying freshmen throwing books around and making a racket and the librarian shrieking after them. Today, however, there are only seniors in here and the library is awfully peaceful. The three of us are sunk in comfy chairs, Daichi's leg draped on my armrest no matter how much I protest. A pile of library textbooks that Daichi and I will pretend to study is balanced precariously on the little table in the centre of the chairs we sit on. Our bags sag against our chairs, neglected and unopened except for us digging inside for our phones. We're not going to be doing much studying this study period.

The mobile phones remind me of my dad, which reminds me of the conversation I had with my dad earlier this morning. Is it that hard to be straightforward and truthful about something like the matters of love?

"Hey, Daichi," I say, out of the blue, just to see what'll happen. "Do you love me?"

He looks startled, but he doesn't skip a beat by saying, "Duh. Of course."

Guess it wasn't that weird. If only my dad could be that straight with me.

"Guys, shush," Asahi groans uneasily, a textbook in his lap. "Trying to actually study here for the bio test. You guys are worse than that short as fuck freshman with the orange hair who kept screaming yesterday."

"Asahi," says Daichi, "the test is in a month. Chill. Even Suga's not studying for it and he's the biggest nerd we know."

"Shut up," I huff at the same time Asahi moans, "I'm going to fail."

"You shut up as well," I tell Asahi in my kindest tone while struggling to push Daichi's leg off of my armrest. "You will be fine."

Asahi sighs dejectedly, snapping his textbook closed and tossing his highlighters in his bag. He probably has lost all hope for learning since he's hanging out with Daichi and I. "Says you. Straight A's on every report card. 95% on every test." His face suddenly lights up as he remembers something. "Hey, Daichi remember that time in Year 6 History when–"

"When Suga cried at the 82 per cent on his essay?" Daichi lights up as well and bursts into laughter. This distracts him enough for me to push his God forsaken leg off. "That was hilarious."

My eyebrows furrow. "Screw you guys!" I snap but they continue laughing and I resort to standing, picking up an unused textbook and smacking the two of them with it. They've made me start laughing as well. "Lost had just ended and I was emotionally unstable!"

Daichi catches the book mid-slap and uses my grip on it to drag me closer to him. He leans down at me – I hate that he is less than an inch taller than me – and gives me a smile. He really does have a nice smile. No wonder so many girls flock around him. "But we still comforted you and bought you loads of chocolate and a book, remember?"

I remember that. Much better than them, it seems. It was actually 79 per cent. And it was mainly Daichi comforting me and drying my tears, because we weren't so close with Asahi back then. And–

My reverie is interrupted by the loud blaring of the P.A. system. Normally, the principal says ordinary things like "Congratulations to Mrs Akita for giving birth to a beautiful baby boy!" or "Mr Fukuda would like to remind the boys who use the second floor bathrooms to improve their aim." But today is different.

The principal's voice is friendly but stern. "Would the following students please report to my office immediately…?"

He begins to list a few names. I recognise a few of them as freshmen names. They're all guys. The surprise of an unusual announcement wears off and the three of us relax and sink back into the chairs and turn our phones back on. The principal's list of names continues.

He's still going, I think. How many people are getting in trouble today?

"Asahi Azumane," the principal lists. Daichi and I both whip our heads around to look at the man in question, who looks fucking terrified. Whoa. What could the principal want with him, along with those other guys? Is he in trouble? Asahi is a little bit of a scaredy-cat, and he'd never do anything insolent or against the rules. So what is it?

"Yuu Nishinoya," the principal says. My ears perk up. That's a guy in our class.

And then suddenly, the principal says: "Koushi Sugawara."

My heart stops. What the hell? I've never been called to the principal's office before. I don't even think he knows my name. Heck, I don't even think I know what the principal's office looks like, or where it is. What have I done wrong? What is the relation between me and the whole barrage of freshmen? What the fu–

"Daichi Sawamura. That is all." The P.A. system cuts off.

We whip our heads to look around at one another. What the fuck?

 

⟡

 

The principal's office is too small to fit more than a dozen guys, most of them quite tall. There are two exceptions: Yuu Nishinoya, whom I recognise and gives Asahi, Daichi and I a solemn nod as we squeeze in the crowded office; and a little freshman with bright orange hair and wide eyes who is too damn excited for his own good.

"I wonder what we're here for," he says excitedly to his neighbour.

"Shut up," the other freshman, taller with dark hair and a brooding expression, snaps crassly. "If you get us in even bigger trouble than we're in now I will slit your throat."

The other one giggles.

The principal, eyebrows raised, watches the thirteen of us. He's a pudgy, balding man who normally looks quite amicable, but right now looks at us, unimpressed. He sits at his desk and waits for the noise to cease. "Thank you," he says when the orange-haired freshman has stopped laughing. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I've brought you here today."

The office would probably usually look pretty swank. Loads of awards, medals and photo frames line the cabinets and desks all around the room. It would be impressive to anybody who stepped in and inspected all the achievements Karasuno High has had over the years: mathematics, literature, volleyball.

"The Board of Studies have recently created a new requirement for being able to sit a standardised university or college acceptance examination," the principal tells us. "That is, that every student who sits one of these tests must do an extracurricular activity at school."

Oh, shit.

People are friends with other people because they have things in common. There's a reason Daichi, Asahi and I are so close; because we have a lot of similarities. Duh. Like, all three of us love chocolate. Or, all three of us watch Game of Thrones, or we all play League of Legends (really badly.) Or that we all are Japanese. One of our main similarities, though, is that we're lazy.

There are loads of different types of laziness. You could be super active in some aspects of your life because you like them, but super indolent about other stuff. I definitely fall in this category, because I'm invested in subjects I prefer, like English or Latin, but I hardly ever try in Maths, because I despise it and suck shit at it.

You could have loads of potential but no motivation, like Daichi. He could be a total athlete if he wanted; he's so buff, fast and strong. He'd rock at soccer, or basketball, or volleyball, or anything if he tried. He'd just rather laze around with me all day instead.

Or you could try really hard not to be lazy, but it's in your nature. Asahi tries really hard to study for school. I know he does. It stresses me out sometimes to see how stressed he gets. But he'd pick watching cat videos on YouTube than documentaries on the human anatomy any day, even the day before the test.

I guess we're all really lazy. That's not something to be proud of, I know, but it's something that unites us.

"Now, I think all of you know why I've brought you here," the principal continues. "None of you have chosen an extracurricular activity to do, even though I prompted many times at the beginning of the year."

Everybody exchanges guilty looks.

"Now, I'm speaking especially to you seniors," he says and stares daggers at Daichi, Asahi, Nishinoya and me. We all gulp. "You are lucky because the rule has only been enforced this year and you do not have to do the extracurricular activity for even a year. However, you still have to do it."

He stands up. "It is already February. If you all do not join a club or do a sport soon, you could be ineligible for doing your SAT, and be unable to pass high school and go to college or university."

I stiffen. That's bullshit.

"Then can't we just join something now?" a junior interjects loudly, panicked. "Like, environment club or something."

"Ah, but as you see, it is already February like I said." The man begins to walk around the office, which is difficult seeing his size and how cramped the space is. "A lot of the clubs have filled up. There is little space left for you people.

"There is another reason I called you to my office," he continues, beginning to smile. "Because, seeing as though you all disobeyed my orders to join a club at the beginning of the year, I find it in my liberty both punish you … and revive an old school tradition."

Revive? What does he mean?

"As you can tell, we live in a very Japanese-dominated society here in New York, more than other communities around the state," the principal says. "When the school began, a club for practicing Noh theatre was opened and it was quite successful for a while, until one of the lead members had an accident and the whole club was stopped."

"You can't be serious, right?" says Orange Hair's friend, the sultry black-haired one. "You want us to start a Noh theatre club. Do you know how dead that culture is–"

"Perhaps not specifically a Noh theatre club," the principal snaps. "But yes, I want you boys to revive the drama club here at Karasuno."

Everybody begins to protest. What? This can't be allowed, right? Drama club, my ass! I'm infuriated. He just wants us to suffer because we don't wanna join shitty environment club, or we're too bad to play a sport–

He shuts us all up with a raised hand. "Not only is it productive, but I hope that it will be successful and thrive like it did in the past. There are two girls who are particularly excited to start a drama club, but were unable to gain enough members until you boys came. Perhaps you'll even compete at the New York Drama Festival this year." Then he smiles at us. I can't tell if he's being evil on purpose. "You're all dismissed."

As soon as we exit the office, all of us explode.

Orange Hair looks severely unhappy, and so does his angry friend.

"Drama club!" Black Hair says incredulously. "What would my dad think?"

"How am I supposed to study while being in a drama club?" somebody yells.

"Perhaps you'll even compete at the drama festival," Daichi mimics. "I would rather die."

Okay. Maybe we're overreacting a little. I speak up softly. "Guys. Maybe it isn't as bad as we think–?"

"Yeah, like hell it will," somebody sneers. "God-damn drama club's only for fucking faggots and poofs–"

"What did you just say?"

It was Daichi. He is very still and quiet, but manages to still be imposing and intimidating. I'm suddenly afraid. He seems angry at the asshole, but I can't tell.

"I said that drama's only for fags," the guy retorts angrily. "What, you a fag?"

He's interrupted by a fist to the face. The douchebag falls to the floor, clutching his mouth and his nose. Daichi's fist and his arm are still raised above, ready to punch again. The douche scrambles to his feet and looks mad, but his expression is nothing compared to Daichi. Daichi is searing with fury. His face is contorted with rage. He is fire, raging and wrathful and ready to strike again, to burn down everything in its path.

"Don't ever use that word," Daichi snaps. He is incensed.

The guy spits blood on the floor, which only adds more fuel to Daichi's flame.

And I am the water to put him out.

"Daichi!" I cry out, running to him and dragging him away from that asshole. "He's not worth it."

Daichi looks utterly bewildered and a little hurt. "Suga…? I'm doing this–"

"Yes, for me, I know," I whisper kindly and look up at him. "I know, I know. But he's really not worth it. I promise."

Daichi casts one more hateful look at that guy, who looks absolutely infuriated and whose nose is bleeding and swollen – good – and then turns back to Asahi and me. Everybody else that was forced into the drama club is stunned. They are all wide eyed and stare at Daichi and that asshole. It's a spectacle and definitely not how I expected our first gathering of the drama club to turn out.

"Let's leave," I whisper to my friends, and they agree. We walk away, feeling the stares of others burn holes into our backs.

On the walk back to the library, Daichi whispers to me, out of the hearing of Asahi, "I can't believe–"

"That I didn't let you beat the living daylights out of him?" I finish for him, amused. "Daichi. I know how you feel. I know better than how you feel. I'm one of the people he was speaking about it."

Okay, here goes: I'm gay. Whoop, there I said it. I'm homosexual and I've been since the day I was born but didn't really realise until I watched Pirates of the Caribbean with Daichi and all he could talk about was how pretty Keira Knightley was, and how all I could speak about was how pretty Orlando Bloom was. Just, please don't tell anyone, okay? I haven't told anybody else except Daichi.

He balls his fists. He's still a fire and he's still burning ever so slightly. "It's two-thousand-and-fucking-sixteen, though! It just makes me so angry that there are people like that, that go to our school." He furrows his eyebrows. "And even if it weren't for you, I'd still be fucking angry, y'know? It's just so ignorant of people."

"I know," I say, smiling softly at him and placing my hand on his shoulder. "I'm angry about it too. There'll always be people like that guy who aren't intelligent enough to accept people with different lifestyles." Then I stop walking, which means he stops. "But do you know what? There'll always be people like you as well, who are intelligent and kind and brave and will stand up for people who have fallen down." I stare at him, and he stares at me. His eyes are really dark. "Do you get me?"

"Yeah," he breathes. He looks genuinely touched.

Asahi coughs. "Guys. You're standing in the doorway of the library."

"Right!" I say, embarrassed. I hurry into the library before my day can go any more downhill.

 

⟡

 

"…And so that's when I said something like _you never talk to mum anymore_ , and my dad was like _we don't have enough time_ ," I recall dejectedly. I'm lying down on my bed, mobile phone pressed against my ear. Today was way too exhausting for my liking. "What does that even mean? I'm sure he still has enough time to talk over dinner, or kiss her before bed. He just doesn't make an effort anymore."

Daichi is a great listener. He doesn't speak until I've finish, doesn't interrupt my angry tirade. When I'm done talking, he exhales softly and speaks, his voice still managing to make me feel warm inside, even over the line. "Hmm. Do you really think that he doesn't love your mum anymore?"

"Maybe not that he doesn't love my mum _at all_ ," I decide finally. "But he definitely doesn't love her the same amount as he did ten years ago."

Daichi sighs with me. We stay silent for a while and I watch a petal fall from a cherry blossom outside of the window from my room. I think of earlier in the morning when I saw the cherry blossoms, think about how much my life has changed since then.

"And the drama club thing too," I mutter. "What _bullshit_. I have enough drama in my life – I don't need any more."

Daichi laughs at that, a sweet, melodic sound that echoes in my ear. "That's true."

"I wish you were here," I blurt before I can think about what I say. _Shit, shit_. Today, I've been entirely too impulsive. Words seem to be jumping out of my throat. Maybe the filter between my mind and my mouth has dissolved, along with my parent's marriage.

Thankfully, I'm saved from how awkward it sounds by Daichi, who always makes a situation feel better. "Like, in your room?"

I shake my head, even if he can't see me. "Just, _with me_. Right now."

A sigh. "Me too, Suga. Me too."

I try not to be _too_ negative. You can only be so pessimistic, until how depressing everything is gets to you. Instead, I try to think of the good things. "Hey, we're seeing each other tomorrow, right?"

Every Saturday I go to his house, or he goes to mine. It's a tradition.

"Of course," Daichi says.

We talk for a little more about things. It's nice. I wish talking to my parents was this natural. However, we're cut short by the cry of Daichi's little sister Aimi, who squeals: " _Daichi_! There's a spider in my room!"

I can tell Daichi is rolling his eyes. "The she-devil calls. I apologise. I'd keep talking, but–"

"Yeah, I know." I grin despite how disappointing it is that Daichi is ending the call. I'm not sure if Aimi or Asahi are terrified of bugs more; they're both scaredy-cats when it comes to creepy-crawlies.

"All right." I lay down on my bed. "Goodbye, loser."

He snorts. "Bye, Suga."

I'm about to hang up, but then I hesitate. Feelings swirl in the pit of my stomach. Maybe … maybe there's enough time left today for one more rash decision. _Maybe_. "Hey… Daichi?"

"Yep?"

My breath hitches before I utter, "I love you."

There's a pause. I'm afraid he's hung up, before he says, "Love you too, man."

There's no hint of irony his voice. Only sincerity. And that makes the whole day, the entire crushingly depressing day full of revelations about broken marriages, and the

I grin and then hang him up. That wasn't as hard as I thought, saying "I love you."

_So why is it so hard for my parents?_


	2. Breakaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _-ˏˋ breakaway ˎˊ-_
> 
> “ _A prop designed to break or shatter, but is usually able to be reassembled._ ”

A lot of things run in the family. Both literally and figuratively.

My dad used to be an athlete who raced and ran in the hurdles in Japan. Futoshi Sugawara was actually going to compete in the hurdles for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, had flown over and everything, before he had an accident during training. Despite this, he liked the look of the smaller, but more beautiful community of Rosevale, tucked behind the limelight of Atlanta, with its dominant Japanese society. He decided to move there two years later with his pregnant wife. Sometimes, though, I still catch my father going for a walk or a run when his workload has lessened.

But less literally, others things do run in the family. Obviously. Everybody has things they have in common with their parents. I have my father's jaw, my mother's eyes. I have the same untidy hair like my dad. I have a birthmark under my eye just like my mum.

But even less physically, there are other things. Like I have the same need to prove myself to other people like my dad. Or I have my mum's inherent, perhaps unnecessary, kindness to everybody I meet.

Does my inability to have friendships – to form relationships – does that come from both my parents? Did I not only gain twenty-three chromosomes from each of my parents, but also the lack of ability of making friends? I mean, parents can't even love each other and they're _married_.

But everybody also has stuff that's a part of them that comes from neither parent. _Shame_ is a feeling that I've harboured for a very long time but doesn't come from either of my parents. Both dad and mum have been proud and supportive of me all my life, but I never know where the feelings of embarrassment have originated from. Like the humiliation I feel every time my father asks for chicken wings instead of ramen, or when I see the black hair that's been dyed brown from years of wanting to be white, of the father who has abandoned his heritage in favour of the American dream – or the mortification that sits in the pit of my stomach at my mum who let her talents go to waste and instead threw away her life to cook, clean, wash and be a housewife instead of pursuing what she dreamed when she was young. _Shame_ makes me feel guilty for being ashamed.

That's the thing. I may be my parent's children, but I know what's wrong with them. I may look like them, and I may have difficulty making friends like them (after all, I only have two.) But I _won't_ let that stop me from trying to fall in love. It won't stop me from finding someone who's suitable for me, and someone who I'm suitable for. It won't stop me from realising problems. I'm not going to avoid the problems just like my parent's avoid theirs, and avoid each other. Confrontation is key.

 _Why do I overthink so much?_ I haven't even fallen in love yet, and probably won't for a long time. I need to calm down. I need _some chill_.

I've been awake for a few hours now, reflecting on my family. It's eight a.m. on a Saturday. I should be out of bed now, getting ready to go to Daichi's house. But, come on. Give me a break. It's _Saturday_. Let me pretend to be asleep until noon.

My eyes are beginning to droop when my phone makes a short little jingle, the sound when I receive a notification. I groan and turn over in my bed, picking up my phone. It's a text from Daichi.

**From DaiCHICKMAGNET:  
** **good morning shortie. u get the email?**

The name that Daichi's contact has on my phone makes me laugh every single time. Why did I ever allow him to enter it on my phone? All grogginess has disappeared. It's just one of those things Daichi does to me, makes me energetic.

**To DaiCHICKMAGNET:  
** **1 inch difference. ONE INCH! I am not a shortie!**

**From DaiCHICKMAGNET  
** **w/ ever shortie. got the email?**   


**To DaiCHICKMAGNET:  
** **What email?**

**From DaiCHICKMAGNET:  
** **check urself, lazy**

I huff irritably, but I do open up the email app on my phone and I have a bunch of unread emails. (Who even uses email anymore?) I delete a bunch of spam mail and also ignore one from a month ago about an invitation to join a church, but I do have a look at the most recent email. It must be the one Daichi was talking about. It's very formal, and from an unfamiliar sender.

 **Kiyoko Shimizu kshimizu@gmail.com** (1 day ago)

to me, sawamurad@gmail.com, azumanea@gmail.com …

**Greetings. I am Kiyoko Shimizu, one of the co-managers of the Karasuno Drama Club. The other manager is Hitoka Yachi. The chaperone for the club is Mr Ittetsu Takada.**

**Now, I understand a few of you were previously uninterested and uninformed about theatre. I've prepared an extensive list of several terms that appear in drama. Though it is long and may be complex for some of you, I expect you to learn all of these terms in a month…**

I read the rest of the email, agape and agog. _Wow_. The principal wasn't wrong when he said that the two girls wanting to manage the drama club were very interested in doing so. The girl, Kiyoko Shimizu, along with an extensive list of random ass theatre terms, has already written schedules, meeting times and meeting places for each week. It's planned out til the end of the goddamn year. The nearest meeting is next Monday before school in the gymnasium. _What the fuck._

The email wasn't only to me, of course; I only recognise Daichi and Asahi's emails, along with ten other boys who must be the other forced members of the drama club.

I try reading some of the terms, ( _acoustics are the behaviour of sound and its study; breakaways are props designed to break or shatter, but is usually able to be reassembled_ ) but I easily get bored.

Up until this point I had considered the drama club as kind of a joke. Like, sure we would attend meetings some times so we would be considered as part of the club and still be able to sit the end of year exams. But now, I'm starting to think that this Kiyoko person is very invested in this club. She's determined to bring the once renowned drama club back to life, and she's stringing along a dozen other guys along on her journey. God damn it. Why couldn't I have chosen volleyball or something?

I sigh and turn off my phone. I don't need any more mention of the stupid drama club in my life. I just want to forget about it.

I text Daichi that, ugh, yes I've read it now, can I just come over already, and he agrees with a wink-y face. I roll my eyes.

Jumping out of my warm, comfortable bed has got to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I do it anyway, stumbling out of my bed and into the wardrobe. I throw on whatever's closest to me and I stagger out of my room and down the stairs. On the way to the door, I see my mum.

She's a little Japanese woman who still manages to look pretty and dignified when she's down on her knees, scrubbing the floor. Her hair is tied up in a tight bun. She looks up at me and shoots me a kind smile. As I've grown older, I've realised how short she is.

That's another thing I've retained from neither of my parents. I'm very average in terms of height, while my dad is tall and my mum is rather short. Perhaps the gods of genetics decided that, because of the height difference of my parents, their child should be smack bam in the middle.

"Good morning, mum," I say.

"Good morning, sweetie. Are you going to Daichi's house?" she asks, but she already knows the answer. I go to his house every week on Saturday. It's almost a family tradition, just like eating at the same pizza place every year on dad's birthday.

I nod.

"Want to eat something before you leave, honey?" she asks. It always surprises me how much her English has improved over the years. She used to speak very brokenly with a thick accent, which made outings with businesspeople that my dad works with very awkward. However, just like every other aspect of my mum's life, she's learned and changed. Just goes to show how even the people you think you know best can surprise you.

"Nah, I'll just eat at Daichi's house. But thanks anyways, mum."

She nods and goes back to cleaning the floor. Before I leave, the impulsive Sugawara from yesterday resurrects and plants a seed of thought in my brain.

"Mum, why did you marry dad?"

Boy, I've been quite wild lately. My heart beats faster, anticipating her answer.

She looks startled, just like Dad did yesterday. "Because we loved each other, Koushi."

"Loved?"

"Love," she corrects. But I'm not convinced.

"Right, okay," I say and then as I leave out the door, I add, "See you later, mum."

I got my driver's license only a few weeks ago, something I make fun of Daichi and Asahi about a lot, because both of them did the test and failed. I don't think Asahi will ever get his license, only because he's terrified of driving and what could happen on the road.

My dad doesn't let me drive his car and I wouldn't drive it anyway. It's way too fancy and I would feel stupid rolling up in Daichi's worn, beaten up neighbourhood with a sleek black Lexus. Instead I climb in my mother's old, much loved Toyota and start it up.

Unlike Asahi, I like driving. Driving lets me think. It lets me ponder about things.

I'm thoroughly convinced now that my parents are in a loveless marriage. A lot of things have lead up to it, of course. But after mustering enough courage to _ask_ , I've gotten my answer. My parents do not love each other, or at least not enough to sustain a marriage. I love both of them and they both love me, but is that enough to help a marriage withstand? I mean, isn't love the main incentive for marriage? Isn't love the glue that holds two people together?

I wouldn't know. I've never fallen in love.

I've driven for maybe fifteen minutes when I arrive in Daichi and Asahi's suburb. I would much prefer to live in it than my own. It has wider streets and more people and kids who play soccer on the road. Plus, it's home to two of my best friends ever.

Instead of short, growing cherry blossoms, the neighbourhood is lined with big, old oaks that have withstood the test of time. Though the pavement is dirtier and broken up, it's more lived in. It seems a lot more natural than my white, picket fence neighbourhood with people who display their mansion like works of art instead of places they live in. When I see Daichi's house, familiarity blossoms in my chest and I stop the Toyota next to the kerb.

Daichi's house has a sort of rustic charm to it. It's cottage-like, one-story with a brick roof and a smudged windows. Their gate has no locks on it and swings open easily. The garden is different from mine; it's wild and overgrown but has a large backyard to play sport on. I walk on the stone pavement, where I used to play games with Daichi when we were little. Admittedly, the house is a little worn down. But it gives off a _lived-in_ feel.

I don't need to ring the doorbell or knock on the door; I have the keys to the house.

"Hello!" I call and as soon as I enter the house something little collides into my knees, hugging them with short arms.

" _Koushiiiiii_ ," the little girl moans, sounding annoyed. "Daichi is being a _butt_."

"Hi, Aimi!" I laugh, rubbing her head. "How are you, squirt?"

Aimi Sawamura melodramatically turns around, collapsing against my knees and holding the back of her hand against her forehead. I chuckle, thinking about how she'd make a way better drama club member than Daichi or I could. " _Terrible_ , because Daichi is being a butt. He's making me do my maths. How mean."

"The meanest," I agree.

Aimi is a cute ten-year-old who looks a lot like her brother, if he was a lot shorter and with no stubble. Her hair is long but is tied up in two pigtails today that swing around. I've known her since she was born, and I love her like she's my own sister.

I hear Daichi's voice call from out of the room, annoyed as well. "Aimi! Where are you?"

He enters the room, brow furrowed. He seems me and instantly his expression opens up into a grin. "Hey!" He sees Aimi and exhales irritably. " _Aimi_! Stop annoying Suga and go do your maths homework."

"I'm not annoying him," she says deviously. "He loves me. Right?" She tugs on my sleeve.

"I really do," I admit.

Daichi rolls his eyes. "Don't encourage her. Come on, Aimi. Maths homework. _Now_."

As soon as he says this, the doorbell rings. In comes Asahi, sheepish and smiling. "Sorry I'm late. I woke up like ten minutes ago and – _Oh_!"

Aimi rushes to him, hugging his knees. She loves Asahi even more than she likes me, because Asahi is sweet to her and spoils her. Asahi adores little children. Daichi huffs even more, folding his arms and glowering.

"Hey sweetie," Asahi says to her, ruffling her hair. He kneels down so they're at the same level. "Your hair looks really pretty today."

"Really?" Aimi says, blushing. "Daichi said the pigtails made me look dumb."

"Don't worry, Daichi's dumb as well so it cancels out." Asahi smiles at her.

Daichi rolls his eyes. It seems he's given up on Aimi ever doing her homework.

"Where's your mum?" I ask him.

"At work," he answers, still watching Asahi and Aimi giggle and talk. "She's doing an extra shift today."

His mum is a hard-working woman who works at Rosevale Hospital in the city as a nurse. She often has to work extra, because if her worn down house is any indication of their financial status, well…

" _Daichiiiii_ ," Aimi wails. "Can I _please_ show Asahi the art I did last week. Please, please, please, _please_ –"

"Yes, of course," Daichi says. He smiles as Aimi runs past, and he manages to give her a noogie. She grabs Asahi's hand and pokes her tongue at Daichi (which he replies with his own tongue exhibition), and skips away from the room, babbling excitedly about all the art she's done.

When she leaves, Daichi sits down and sighs. I sit down with him and cock my head at him. It's code for _what's wrong_?

He twists his mouth, picks up a pile of paper on the bench and drops it down on the table. Words that I've never had to worry about float dizzyingly in the papers in front of me. _Bills. Taxes. Final notice. Due soon._

"Daichi…"

He shrugs. "I don't … I don't think I can go to college anyway. We can't afford it, and I need a full-time job." He works part-time at a restaurant in the city. "And it's either Aimi's education or mine."

"Hey," I say softly. My hand finds its way on his shoulder. "You know I can pay for it for you."

" _No_ ," Daichi retorts. He shoves the papers off the table and they float to the ground. "We've had this conversation before–"

I always offer money to them. My family is way too rich for its own good, and the Sawamura family needs money way more than I do. But Daichi and his mum always refuse on the grounds of not wanting to be treated like they need charity. Even so, I often give money to Aimi and tell her to stuff it wherever they keep their cash. She may be only ten, but she understands how poor her family is and she always nods seriously when I talk about it to her. She's smart, just like her brother and her mother.

I know nothing I can say will convince him. "We'll figure something out."

I can't _believe_ I had the nerve to complain about family issues yesterday to him. All my problem is – what? That my parents have lost interest in each other? His are much more monumental.

"Koushi." Daichi almost never uses that name. He calls me _Suga_ or _dude_ or _man_ but hardly ever Koushi. "You're – you're a really … a really good friend."

I don't reply because anything I'd say would ruin the moment. We both stand and move in for a hug. It lasts too long for a casual one, because it's _not_ casual. A thousand unspoken words travel between us in that minute long hug.

I manage to say, "If I was a good friend, I'd force money onto you. No matter what you say."

"No, not really. Y-You – you just have to be there for me. And you always are."

I hum in agreement. "I guess so."

The hug ends, but the feeling of warmth doesn't. So much stress has both lifted off of us in only a minute.

"Wanna…wanna go out? To eat, I mean," I hurriedly add, determined not to make things too weird.

"S-Sure."

We leave Asahi with Aimi for the rest of the day. I drive in silence, but its companionable and comforting. Daichi turns on the radio and hums along to some pop song he likes.

The busy city of Rosevale opens up in front of us. Though smaller than the other cities in Georgia, it's still buzzing with excitement and joy. Tall, silver buildings tower above homely, pleasant cafés. Shopping malls advertise clothing brands and watches with large billboard signs hanging overhead. The streets are slowly becoming crowded as morning goes and noon comes. All around me are signs written in four different alphabets: hiragana, kanji, katakana and English. It might be kind of weird for tourists to realise how immersed and combined the cultures of Japan and America have become, but it's the norm here.

"Sakanoshita?" I ask Daichi.

He nods.

It only takes a few more minutes before I park in front of Sakanoshita Café, perhaps the most pleasant and best quality in the whole of Rosevale. It makes the best hot chocolate in the _whole damn world_. Daichi and I come here together very often. (Asahi has only come with us a handful of times and says the coffee is shit, but neither Daichi nor I like coffee, so it's a win-win, I guess.)

When we enter the café and take a seat, the same, grumpy, waiter slash chef slash clerk comes to us. He obviously remembers us and gives us a look of disgruntled recognition. Perhaps the only shortcoming of Rosevale's best café is the only person who works there. Sakanoshita isn't a very popular café, I'm sure, because it only needs one employee, who probably owns the business anyway. He's a mid-twenties man with a mane of dyed blonde hair, with the nametag " _Keishin_ " stuck on his breast pocket. He has a bunch of piercings on his ear but I've never counted how many there are. He always looks mildly ill tempered, and sometimes smokes in the corner of the café while Daichi and I are eating, which definitely isn't great. But his cooking makes up for all his flaws. It's so good.

Keishin walks up to our table. "What'll you have today?"

I say, "Two hot chocolates and two pork buns, please," even though we order the same damn thing every time, but whatever.

"You okay?" I ask Daichi when Keishin leaves.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I'm better."

_Good._

When Keishin returns with our food and our hot chocolate, I inspect his ear, counting how many piercings there are. There are three.

When I turn back to Daichi and our food, he is grinning at me, slightly amused.

"You think he's cute?" Daichi asks curiously in a whisper, leaning toward me.

I whip my head to where Keishin is, hopeful he didn't hear. He's in the corner of the café, lighting a cigarette. Gross. " _What_? _Him_? No way!" I hiss.

Daichi smirks. "You were looking at him weirdly."

My blush deepens as I lift the pork bun to my mouth. "I was counting his piercings!"

He winks at me. "Sure you were."

"Plus," I say hurriedly, "he's not even my type. Too old."

Daichi goes quiet for a minute, as if formulating a response. As he stirs the hot chocolate in front of him, he whispers, "So, like what is?"

I send him a quizzical expression.

"I mean: what's your type?"

 _Oh_. I don't talk about this a lot with Daichi. "Umm… younger than he is – obviously. Doesn't smoke. Genuinely kind. I guess a bit of … m-muscle. _Shut up_. Uh – what else? Tall? I … I'm not a fan of his blonde hair. I like darker hair."

It takes me a moment to realise that Daichi fits that description. Of course – in another world, Daichi would be a perfect boyfriend, right? But in this one, he's my best friend. It'd be way too weird.

But… he _does_ have a nice smile…

Whoa. Off-limits territory right here. Out of bounds. Thinking about your best friend like that definitely violates at least one rule in the bro code. I sip a bit of the burning hot chocolate, hoping that any inappropriate thoughts drown along with the chocolatey goodness.

Daichi laughs, apparently unaware of how similar that description is to him. "I think you're very specific. You'll never get a boyfriend if you're _that_ picky."

"Just because I have _standards_ ," I tease.

"Hey!" he says, laughing.

We spend a while at Sakanoshita Café. I'm a slow eater, so it takes me a long time to finish the pork bun. _So good_ , though.

"Think we should leave now?" I say.

"Not really," Daichi admits. "But I do have to do homework. Fukuda will rip me open if I don't do the algebra work he gave us yesterday."

I drive him home and drop him off, waving at Asahi and Aimi through the window of my Toyota.

Daichi comes back to me, leaning through the window and drawls, "See you tomorrow, _at drama club._ "

"Thanks for reminding me," I groan and kick him out my car.

When I arrive home, it's around four p.m.

I must have arrived very quietly and discretely, because I hear voices coming from inside.

I open the door inaudibly and as I creep in, I realise my parents are _arguing_. My heart sinks. It's loud and angry, but not enough to make me think that it'll turn violent. It's just _sad_ to hear them having a go at each other. My mum's voice is shrill and piercing while my dad's shout is booming and echoing.

I don't know what they're arguing about. I don't _want_ to know.

I try hard not to listen to what they're screaming about as I shut the door quietly and sneak up the stairs without them hearing. I find solace in the quiet of my bedroom. I can only hear their muffled shouting all the way up here. This is my hiding place. This is my safe place. It's dark in here, but it's secure. My bedroom is my sanctuary.

I haven't heard them argue for a long time now, but it makes me think: do they argue when I'm not there? Instead of ignoring and avoiding one another, do they actively seek fights? Instead of allowing each other to float in different directions, do they purposefully push one another away? Instead of letting each other fade into nothingness, do they rip apart at one another _on purpose_ until they are nothing? Am I so stupid that I don't even notice that my parents don't just not love each other, they _hate_ each other?

My heart breaks. It's never been that whole to begin with, but it's falling apart in my hands. The wholeness I felt after a day with Daichi is ripping itself to shreds.

My bedroom might be my sanctuary, but it's lonely here. Sheltered, but isolated.

What was it, one of the theatre terms Kiyoko defined? Breakaway? Yes, that's the one. A breakaway is a prop designed to break or shatter upon impact. My heart is a breakaway in the tragedy of my life, designed since the beginning of my existence to explode into a million pieces upon meddling with love. Marriage is a breakaway, planned from the start to wear and tear eventually, until it dissolves and _breaks away_.

I decide not to tell Daichi. He has enough on his mind.

But what else was it about breakaways? I quickly scramble for my phone, blinking at the sudden brightness in the dark of my bedroom. The mail app is still opened from the last time I shut off the phone. The email is still there. I scroll to the list of theatre terms Kiyoko had written.

" _Breakaway – a prop designed to break or shatter, but is usually able to be reassembled_."

Able to be reassembled.

Sure, my parent's marriage is a breakaway. It's a prop in the tragedy that is life. But you know what? It can be reassembled. It can be fixed.

 _I can make this work_.

Their muffled arguing spurs me on.

_I can fix their marriage._

I can fix the breakaway that is my parent's marriage. I can restore it.

I guess that's what else runs in the family. The determination of my father to be accepted and respected in this country, despite being surrounded by racists and xenophobes in the workforce. The resolution of my mother to be admired and regarded as just as important as my father despite being a housewife.

My dad became a successful lawyer and now owns a law firm. My mum learned English and gained confidence, and now neither my dad nor I could live without her. And now their willpower lives in me, surges through me, the same willpower that helped my dad and mum succeed, the one that tells me now to fix the glaring holes in our household. The willpower that brings me to life, that helps me breathe again.

That's what runs in our family.

_We don't give up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks!


	3. Corpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _-ˏˋ corpse ˎˊ-_
> 
> “ _Corpse: Forgetting one's lines during a piece of acting and potentially creating embarrassing moments onstage._ ”

Awkward moments – no matter how humiliating, unpleasant or embarrassing – are a very important part of life that everybody goes through, like a Harry Potter phase, or oxygenation. Embarrassing moments help you learn stuff – like what social situations to avoid the hell out of, or to hold onto the pole of the bus next time so you don't fall over and accidentally land on Daichi's crotch, _fuck_. Awkward moments shape my life. Heck, awkward moments _are_ my life. Life is the awkward moment between birth and death.

An awkward moment is happening right now. As expected, nobody is excited for the first official meeting of Karasuno High's resurrected drama club. Two rows of six uncomfortable red chairs have been set out by Kiyoko beforehand, and are positioned to face her and Hitoka Yachi. Mr Takeda, a younger-than-most teacher with excited, expectant eyes, sits nearby, watching us with enthusiasm. A table stands near Kiyoko with a bunch of papers piled upon each other. I grip the edges of my hard, plastic seat, and the feeling that it gives my butt is not pleasant at all. The meeting hasn't even started and I want it to be over.

All but two of the seats are filled. I'm surprised by the high amount of attendance; I really thought that nobody would show up except Daichi, Asahi and I. Next to us sits Nishinoya (that advanced sophomore guy in our science class) and two other people I don't know. Daichi looks bored, and Asahi is tense. I'm already done with this meeting. The three of us sit in the furthermost row from the teacher and the co-managers because, in Asahi's words, Kiyoko "looks too scary."

I can see where he's coming from. She's pretty, but she's also deadly stoic, with a never changing expression. Her black hair hangs at her shoulders and her solemn is framed behind glasses. Next to her is Hitoka, who is much younger and is probably a freshman. She's blonde and short, and looks even more terrified of Kiyoko than Asahi is. She keeps shooting frightened looks at Kiyoko when she thinks the latter isn't looking.

All thirteen people – the teachers, the co-managers and the rest of the unwilling members – wait in silence for the next two students to come, and I'm thinking they won't ever, when the gymnasium doors burst open.

"Sorry!" calls the orange-haired freshman from last Friday. All heads turn to look at him skip in. He looks genuinely sheepish as he makes his way to the two empty seats in the front row. Next to him is his dark-haired friend with the constantly irate expression. He could give the Sakanoshita Café's waiter a run for his money in the dirty looks department.

 _There they go again_ , I think. Black Hair smacks Orange Hair and hisses him to be quiet. Black Hair always acts like he hates Orange Hair, but they're inseparable. They sit in the two remaining seats.

"Finally, you're all here," Kiyoko sighs, and picks up a clipboard and a pen. "Asahi Azumane."

Asahi looks fucking petrified, jerking up in his seat. He squeaks, "Yes?"

Kiyoko peers at him over her clipboard, clearly unimpressed. "I'm reading the roll."

"O-Oh! _Right_! Here!" Asahi looks like he's about to burst into tears.

She continues reading the roll. I learn a few names – Orange Hair's name is Shouyou, and Black Hair is called Tobio.

When the roll is done, she sets the clipboard down. "The twelve of you might have realised that you are one short of the amount that you had when you spoke to the principal." _Nope, but now I do that you've said so._ The asshole whom Daichi punched in the face is absent. (I'm not complaining.) "This is due to the fact that one of you, a sophomore, went to the principal and complained, while using some vulgar words. The principal took the liberty to ban him from joining _any_ extracurricular groups this year."

I don't know if that's a punishment or not. At least that guy won't be in the club with us, which I guess is a win-win for the both of us.

"Now, onto more important issues," Kiyoko says formally. She picks up a pile of papers and begins to walk around the seats, handing them out.

"What is this?" Tobio asks nastily.

"The permission form for the Drama Festival, of course," she says, without looking at him. She flicks a piece of paper into my hand and sure enough, it's a permission form. I read it with dawning horror. _Please fill in the blanks: I, (enter parent or guardian's name here), hereby grant permission for my child (enter name here), of class (enter class here) to enter the upcoming Drama Festival…_

" _Excuse me_?"

Kiyoko, for the first time, spins around to look at Tobio. If looks could kill, they'd both be dead, with the glares they're shooting at one another. She purses her lips and says, "Read it yourself."

I'd laugh at the affronted expression on Tobio's face if the situation were any less tragic.

She returns to the front of the little gathering. "Yachi, would you like to explain what the Drama Festival is about? _Some_ of us seem incapable of reading."

Hitoka jumps, startled at being addressed. "Oh, yes of course – um, okay. The Rosevale Drama Festival is an annual event that's held in the City Hall every December." Her face falls for a moment and she looks down at her feet. "A-Admittedly, Karasuno hasn't competed in years." She looks up from her feet, fiery passion swirling in her eyes. "But this year, Kiyoko – I mean, _we –_ are determined to get Karasuno to City Hall in December and win!"

She enthusiastically raises a fist in the air. Nobody else shares her conviction except Mr Takeda, who gives her a round of applause. Everybody else stares silently.

_This is a fucking train wreck._

"This is an unofficial booklet I made last night about everything you need to know about the Drama Festival – its history, what we'll need to do to compete," Kiyoko says before things get too awkward. She holds a dozen booklets in her hands. "Here, Yachi, hand these out."

Hitoka begins to hand them out, but trips over near me and falls gracelessly to the floor. She yelps in pain. _Ouch._ The booklets she's meant to hand out scatter all over the gymnasium floor. A few people snigger at her.

I sigh – this meeting is a disaster – and help the poor girl up. Pity swirling in the pit of my stomach, I crawl under the red chairs to collect a few of the scattered booklets and hand them back to Hitoka. She says nothing but the gratitude in her eyes burns bright.

I can tell there are more things that Kiyoko would like to tell us – the extra piles of paper on the table, the fact that meetings are supposed to go on for half an hour and it's been ten minutes – but it's quite hard to lead a meeting with an unimpressed audience and an incompetent co-manager. With how terribly the meeting is going, I don't blame her for ending it early.

"That's for all this meeting," Kiyoko mutters and I feel a collective sigh of relief among the dozen boys sitting in the red rows. "Remember that next meeting is Tuesday lunch in D5. And remember that I'm also going to test your knowledge of those theatre term soon. Maybe on Wednesday."

If she was unpopular among the dozen of us before, she's practically notorious now. All of us are grumbling as we leave, and I hear snippets of other conversations, hissed and angry whispers that I really hope Kiyoko cannot hear.

"I'm _so_ skipping tomorrow's meeting."

"No wonder drama club's been dead for so long. It's because _she's_ managing it!"

"That girl is such a _bi_ –"

As I exit the gymnasium, clueless Mr Takeda tells a displeased Kiyoko and an embarrassed Hitoka, "That was a _great_ meeting, girls!"

I exhale and think: No, it really wasn't, Mr Takeda.

As Daichi, Asahi and I walk away from the gymnasium and onto the large sprawling expanse of grass that is Karasuno High's sport fields, Daichi mutters, "That was awful. Can't imagine coming five times a week to _that_."

Asahi and I mutter agreement as we walk across the grass and avoid getting hit by early morning players and their soaring soccer balls. The mood is dreary; if the first meeting was that crushingly horrible, what was the rest of the year going to be like?

A little _ding_ rings out from Asahi's pocket, interrupting the miserable mood. Asahi's face lights up as he checks his phone and reads whatever the notification shows him. Excitedly, he brandishes the phone and shoves it my face. I blink as I read the text from somebody called Kenma: _asahi, asahi! we got accepted. fuck yeah!_

"Look, _look_! Our ensemble got accepted by the OSMP concert in two weeks," Asahi says, beaming. He's part of a string ensemble outside of school with a bunch of other string instrument players from other Rosevale high schools. The Outside School Musical Players is a committee in Rosevale that promotes music playing outside of school and studies. Music played for fun, I guess. (I wouldn't really know, because I have the musical talent of a piece of cardboard.)

"Fuck yeah," I say, punching Asahi in the shoulder. "I'm so glad for you!"

Asahi smiles but then as a sudden thought enters his mind, his eyes widen and suddenly becomes distressed. "It's in _two weeks_. That's almost _no_ time. Fuck – _fuck_ –"

Daichi laughs, then puts Asahi in a headlock and gives him a noogie, much to Asahi's protests. "Stop stressing, you _spoon_. You'll do fine."

I can't help the smile that creeps up my face. "Yes, you're amazing at cello. Calm down."

He grins at us. "You'll come, right? I'm allowed to invite whomever I want."

"Yeah, duh," I say, rolling my eyes. "Who do you think we are?"

The day has improved a considerable amount. We're about to leave the enormous fields and go into the classrooms before the bell rings, when we hear a girl squealing. The three of us whip our heads around to see Hitoka, with an armful of papers and documents, rushing through the soccer players kicking around balls.

"Be careful–" I yell out, but it's too late.

Hitoka, the poor freshman, hasn't been at Karasuno long enough to know that players who practice in the early morning, and their airborne soccer balls are huge hazards. One said ball comes flying at her and she falls to the floor the second time today, all the papers in her hands flying onto the wet, muddy grass. Players don't notice her and run all over the papers, leaving prints all over them. Kiyoko rushes to her aid, seemingly reprimanding her for not being more people.

I'm cringing. Really hard. No matter where I go, it seems, drama club seems to follow.

Remember all that pretentious, philosophical stuff I spouted about awkward moments shaping your character and being an important aspect of life? That was bullshit. The only thing I'm ever going to learn from drama club is "pick a different activity next time."

At least awkward moments end. In my mind, drama club is going to last _for-fucking-ever._

 

⟡

 

Daichi decides to come to my house today for a science report we have to do about insects or some shit. Asahi, who is terrified of everything under the sun, neglects to come, under the pretence of "having experienced too much scariness today" by which he means Kiyoko.

I understands what he means. Today's drama club meeting was just as bad as the one before that, and the one before that. It's Wednesday and we've only had three meetings with that damned drama club but it's already ended up as disastrous and awful for everybody (except maybe Mr Takeda.) Kiyoko is the _worst_ part of drama club.

She had asked one of us at random the definition of some obscure theatre term – "What is the meaning of an _understudy_?" – and then whoever it was wouldn't know – "Uh, I don't know?" – and she would become enraged and shout the definition at us. If anybody had a shred of love for that witch before, it's disappeared after her screeching invaded our eardrums.

"Guess I was right in assuming drama club was a bit of a joke," I tell Daichi as we walk to my house. As we approach my plastic, wannabe-white neighbourhood full of mansions and cherry blossoms, I see Daichi's face light up as he scans the expanse of suburbia opening up in front of him. While I appreciate the charm of rustic, suburban streets and cottage-like houses like his, he is in love with all things rich and fancy. He thinks my neighbourhood is the best thing since sliced bread.

"Yep," Daichi replies, walking side by side with me, though he's far more invested in inspecting houses than small talk about drama club. "Though I kinda feel bad for the other girl – what was her name? Hitoka? Yeah. Seems like Kiyoko dominates her a lot."

"True," I sigh. She seemed a lot more subdued the past few meetings. I'm guessing Kiyoko

I roll my eyes and my hands find their way into my pocket. "Yeah, well, whatever. 'S just some dumb thing that I hope will blow over soon."

We reach my house and when we get inside, my mum greets us. She drops her dustpan and comes rushing at us and begins hugging and kissing Daichi. He laughs and leans down at her, returning the affections. "Koushi, Daichi! My sweeties."

"Hello, Hannah," Daichi says. He calls her by her first name (well, her white name) because of my mum's insistence that she not be called Mrs Sugawara. ("I've been called that enough times at my husband's corporate meetings," she would say to Daichi years ago. "So, it's either mum or Hannah for you.")

" _Mum,_ " I deadpan. "Can you not call us sweetie? We're seventeen!"

"Oh, I'm sure you're both used to it by now," mum says, grinning, and Daichi smiles in agreement. Mum looks up at him and gasps, as if taking him in for the first time. "Oh my gosh, you're so tall now! I'll have to start wearing high heels. Say, what about you two going shopping with me for a new pair? I hear this season's sale is very good–"

" _Mum_ ," I cut in. "We're actually meant to be doing science homework."

"Bah, homework!" she says dismissively, walking towards the kitchen. "You can do homework later. I'll make you some food first, _then_ you can do your science."

(I would like to point out that "you can do homework later" is _not_ the case when it's just me at home.)

But we comply anyway, and follow her into the kitchen. As you can see, my mum is sort of a handful sometimes. A little bit intense and loud. But all round an amazing person. She's also a great cook and whips us up a plate of triangular sandwiches and hands them to me.

"You can eat these while doing your homework," she says kindly.

"Thanks so much, mum," I say, the sound muffled because I'm already putting one in my mouth.

Daichi laughs and says, "Thank you, Hannah."

At that moment, dad walks into the doorway and is surprised when he sees Daichi and I. He's looking a little skinnier and paler, but is still tall and imposing. "Oh, hello boys, didn't see you there!"

"Hey, dad," I say (still munching on a sandwich), as Daichi says, "Hello, sir."

Daichi and my dad are a lot less close than Daichi and my mum are. A lot of _sirs_ and _young man_ are thrown around if Daichi and dad ever have a conversation, but they aren't on first name basis. I guess it's because dad's away at work a lot. (I have the same problem with dad as well.)

"Where were you two off to?" dad asks, smiling oddly at the two of us.

"We were going upstairs to do homework," I say cautiously, wondering what's up.

And then I notice something that makes my heart sink. My dad is pointedly only looking at Daichi and I, and mum has averted her gaze. She's scrubbing the kitchen top though it looks perfectly clean from where I am.

I take a sharp intake of breath and hope it's not noticeable. _They're avoiding each other_ , I think. On purpose now. Not even a side effect of too much work now. Just plain avoiding each other. Ignoring one another. Drifting further apart. Fuck this. Fuck. This marriage is a _sham_ , fuck, fuck, fuck–

Daichi apparently notices my distress and comes to my rescue. "We should really be heading upstairs now. Homework and all. Thanks for the sandwiches, Darlene!"

My breath stops for a second. Have they been arguing more since yesterday? What is going on in my parents' broken marriage? What is going on behind the doors of the picture perfect household my parents have managed to pretend they are living happily in?

With a hand on my shoulder, Daichi guides me away from the kitchen.

 

⟡

 

My room isn't the cleanest one in the house. It's not the biggest one in the house, nor is it the fanciest or the prettiest. But it's the safest.

"You okay?"

I take a good look at Daichi as I close the door behind us. The face I've been looking at for over ten years looks back at me, concerned. My rapid breath calms and slows down. It's just Daichi. Sure, maybe my parent's marriage is crumbling apart at my feet, and my whole world is changing and spinning at a rate where I can't hold on, but at least Daichi is the same. At least Daichi still clamps his hand on my shoulders and peers into my eyes and asks if I'm okay.

"Yeah," I say roughly. "Just a little – you know. I just wanna…"

Daichi raises an eyebrow, asking me to continue.

"I want to sleep," I whine. I sound like a five year old. I sound juvenile and stupid, but the way Daichi smiles softly, I also feel like it's deserved.

Sleeping is cool. Instead of thinking it as _practice for death_ , I like to think about my body thinking: right, we've done enough shit today. Sleeping is really just doing nothing, which is my kind of thing.

I suspire, rolling out of Daichi's grip and onto my bed. It's messy and unmade but I feel right at home in the warmth of the blankets. I roll to the side of the bed touching the wall, and I pat the empty space next to me, staring thoughtfully up at Daichi. He walks over and lies down next to me, sighing as well. Now, normally lying down next to someone else would be awkward. (It would be one of those famous _awkward moments_.) But it's just Daichi. It's normal. We lay next to one another in silence.

I've slept in the same bed with Daichi like, what – a dozen times? It's not that common, but it does happen. It's not a usual occurrence, but it feels natural to just doze in the same bed with him. I hitch up the blankets and (obviously) he steals most of the sheets. But I find that I don't mind.

I don't know when I fall sleep. But I know it doesn't matter, because Daichi is beside me.

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is empty. I check the time on my phone and I wince as the sudden light floods my vision. 5:32. _Shit._ I've slept for almost an hour and a half. Daichi is sitting on my favourite, spinning chair at my desk, humming quietly as he does the homework we were meant to do hours ago.

"Has Sleeping Beauty awoken finally?" Daichi asks, smirking. He walks over to me and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Shut up," I groan. "How long have you been doing the homework?"

"An hour?"

I frown. "Should've woken me up."

"You looked too peaceful asleep," Daichi says, without a hint of irony in his voice.

I've stopped counting the amount of awkward moments that have sprouted up this week. Perhaps as punishment for my philosophical bullshit, the universe has given me my fair share of awkward moments so I can realise that, _no_ , not every awkward moment is a lesson.

This one makes me blush madly. Along with the fact that we were sleeping in the same bed, there are the implications that he was _watching_ me while I was asleep…

No. _Shut up, Koushi_.

I really hope he can't see the red in my cheeks. "Ah – whatever. Turn the light on, it's dark."

Daichi coughs and as he moves to switch the light on, I roll out of my bed and onto the seat near the desk. Daichi's and my textbook are open, along with my laptop. The light flickers on and Daichi trudges back to me. His eyes widen and then narrow as he sees me sitting comfortably in the chair that was his for the past hour. I smirk up at him. (Did I tell him to go turn on the light so I could steal his chair? Maybe.)

"I was sitting on that," he complains.

"And now I am," I tease, poking my tongue out.

He retaliates by sitting on top of _me_. His backside lands on my thighs suddenly and his weight crushes my legs. The air in my chest is knocked out. I'm left coughing and he laughs so happily and loudly. " _Oomph_. Daichi! You heavy fuck – I can't breathe–"

We compromise by having me, the much less heavy and bulky one, sit upon Daichi. He's still laughing as I sit on his thighs and rest my back on his chest. His arms wrap around my waist as I start my share of the science homework load.

"You're as light as feather," Daichi says.

"You're as heavy as a brick house," I say, disgruntled. My thighs still hurt from Daichi's vicious _full-body attack_.

Daichi chuckles. Because my back is firmly pressed against his chest, I feel his body shake with the laughter. It's a warm feeling. "You know you love me."

" _Really_ do not right now."

We continue like this for a while, exchanging light hearted words while I absent-mindedly finish up the homework that Daichi had already started. It's … it's nice. Who knew homework could be so fun?

The door to my bedroom creaks open. I spin the chair around (which is no easy feat, I tell you, with two people on it at the same time.) It's my father, and he speaks in a deadly flat tone, "Boys, dinner's ready soon and–"

He stares at us for a moment, stunned. I realise how strange we must look, my butt on Daichi's thighs and my back leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around my hips, his chin resting in the crook of my neck, smiles on the both of our faces.

 _Awkward_.

"We'll be down in a little," I tell dad. "We just have to finish homework first."

"Right. Homework," my dad says, nodding curtly and then leaving.

This little exchange leaves me blushing and almost stops me from remembering the _real_ reason Daichi had brought me up to my bedroom. But I _do_ remember. My father's face brings the memory rushing back in my mind.

"Daichi," I say hurriedly. " _My parents_. Their marriage. I need to – I need to fix it and–"

Daichi's light tone has disappeared. He's serious when he says, "Suga. You don't _need_ to do anything. You aren't obligated to do anything, even if you're their child. They are adults and should be able to resolve things themselves."

This isn't the answer I want to hear. I stumble out of Daichi's grip and for a second he looks – what, sad? Disappointed? I am probably just imagining things.

"I know I don't _need_ to," I say, trying to keep calm. "But I _want_ to."

Daichi resignedly sighs. "Fine."

"I don't know _what_ to do though. I said I'd fix their marriage and whatever, but I don't even know how to do that!"

He ponders for a moment. "You could try marriage counselling. Loads of couples do it."

"Okay."

So for the rest of the afternoon we research marriage counselling and the different places in Rosevale where couple therapy and marriage counselling can take place. We settle on _Ikkei Counselling – for all your professional guidance and psychological needs_. Daichi helps me write an e-mail which I hope doesn't sound too desperate. When I press the fateful button of _SEND_ , I give Daichi a look. I don't know what the look is: hopelessness, despair, longing–

Whatever it is, Daichi smiles back me.

"We'll make it through this," he says.

And I believe him.

 

⟡

 

Two weeks after the first drama club meeting, there is a change. _About time._

For a fortnight I've sat in hard, plastic seats, pretending to listen to whatever lecture Kiyoko has for us. She's started bringing a whiteboard to every meeting and drawing countless plans and diagrams that nobody understands. The impeccable attendance in the first week has dropped to around half of the members attending the boring-ass lectures Kiyoko intones to us. Soon, the only people at the meetings are Daichi, Asahi and I, Tobio and Shouyou, and one other balding guy who falls asleep each meeting anyway. Sure, we're bad members; but she's even worse at grabbing our attention.

I can't imagine doing this for the rest of the goddamn year. I really cannot.

Nobody involved is happy. Hitoka sits in a chair beside Kiyoko each meeting, silent and uninterested. Mr Takeda is immersed in only whatever game he plays on his phone.

It's a Thursday when everything changes. It's lunch time right now, but we have drama, so no cafeteria casserole for me today. Drama club is on again – we're in the music room, G15, where a lone piano sits and gathers dust, while the drama club sits and gathers dust as well. (I've started just using my phone during drama club meetings. I mean, what else can I do? Sleep?)

After ten minutes of saying things that go unheard by everybody, Kiyoko says in her monotone voice, "End of meeting. The next one is tomorrow, after school at the gym."

Meetings have started ending shortly because there's absolutely nobody listening to Kiyoko, the only one speaking.

What does she even talk about? Theatre, drama techniques? I thought drama was more _action_ and less _dialogue_. This isn't even communication, a conversation. This is pure _nothing_.

Awkwardness has dissolved. It's not awkward anymore; it's just pathetic and lonely and I really wish _something_ would happen.

Everybody begins to file out except Kiyoko and Hitoka, who remain to put the chairs back and clean the whiteboard. Mr Takeda is the only person who bids Kiyoko and Hitoka goodbye.

It's only been two weeks and it's already a tradition; enter, pretend to listen for half an hour, exit.

"Drama club _sucks_ ," Daichi mutters. "Of all the clubs to revive, why did it have to be drama?"

Asahi murmurs agreement. "Even Hitoka and Kiyoko look completely done with drama club."

I'm about to agree, when I realise the lack of my mobile phone in my pocket. I always panic when I realise the constant pressure against my thigh is gone, meaning my phone is lost – _and it's on silent_. That and my parents' gradually breaking marriage stress me the most, out of everything in the world.

My panic dies down almost immediately as I remember where I left it. "Oh, I'm so stupid, I must have left my phone in the music room." _Where else would it be_? I only really use it at school when I'm at drama club meetings.

I ask my friends to wait for me in the cafeteria as I head back to G15. As I approach the room, I hear murmured talking.

Like, I said before: I've been watching way too much _James Bond_ lately. Kinda consider myself as a bit of a spy. The inner espionage within me control my limbs and make me sneak up against the door and press my ear up against it.

The art of eavesdropping – it's one I've been mastering since I stumbled upon my parents arguing. The same feelings of shame, but a thirst for knowledge that I felt when listening to my parents argue – these feelings flood my chest and make me listen.

"…don't know what to do…"

"…shh, don't worry…"

It takes me a moment to realise somebody is crying, a girl. At first, I think: _of course, it's Hitoka, right_? Because, if anybody is a cry-baby it's either Hitoka or Asahi, and the latter is waiting for me at the cafeteria. But the harder I listen, the quieter and lower the voice sounds and the less like Hitoka it sounds, less high-pitched and screechy. It takes me a moment to realise that the person crying is _Kiyoko_.

"…I j-just wanted to have a drama club," Kiyoko sobs.

Awkward moment alert, again. When people cry around me, I have no idea what to do. Cry with them? Comfort them? Pretend you can't see them? I guess it would be a whole lot more awkward if I actually was there in the room. But still, listening to Kiyoko, of all people, cry is unpleasant and makes me squirm.

"Shh, I know." By the sounds of it, Hitoka is comforting Kiyoko. I imagine they are hugging, and Hitoka is stroking Kiyoko's hair. Something like that.

"But n-none of the members – they're – they aren't … they don't _like_ drama," Kiyoko whispers.

"That's your job, then, isn't it?" I hear Hitoka say pleasantly. "To make them like it. To make them _love_ it."

"It-It's harder than that–" Kiyoko's voice is faint.

I realise that if anyone saw me right now, it would look quite strange. Odd, heavily breathing boy with his ear pressed up against a door.

"Of course. But you've got to try."

"…don't know _how_ to do it myself–"

"Kiyoko." Hitoka, normally sweet, now has gained a firm, serious tone to her high, squeaky voice. "I know you only wanted a drama club, because _I_ wanted to do it as well, and we did it together. We convinced – heck, we _forced_ – the principal to allow us to open the drama club. We found members together. And we'll make those loser boys like drama – _together_. Are you with me?"

There's nothing but silence, but I hope Kiyoko nods.

And, pathetically enough, there's that word. _Hope_. Not really my favourite word. It's kind of like _expect_ but with a happier, huger hunger to it. It's more than _expect_ , it's _want._ And that just makes it all the worse when things don't turn out as expected.

So why do I hope? What is the reason I hope Kiyoko agrees, I hope she continues with the disastrous mess that is the Karasuno drama club? Because, I don't hate her, or Hitoka. Maybe I don't _like_ them, but there's something in the way how impassioned they are when they speak about theatre, as if drama is their significant other. It's the way that even after ten horrible, terrible meetings with twelve horrible, terrible members, they're still continuing the damn club. They're still hoping we'll come around and grow to like fucking drama. They still _hope_. They still hope, and that is why. That's why _I_ hope. I hope, because they hope.

Yeah, I don't like hope. I don't normally _hope._ But this time, guess what I do.

I _hope_.

 

⟡

 

"Hey Kiyoko, can I talk with you?" Seven words I never thought I'd ever say in my whole existence.

(We're in the cafeteria. She's seated alone and is halfway through noodle soup. I cringe at the bluntness of my words and I think: _second awkward moment this week_. Twelfth one this fortnight. If I keep going at this rate, I'll set a world record.)

Apparently, she didn't think I'd ever say those words either. Kiyoko Shimizu is taken aback for a split second before reverting back to her typical, serious scowl.

"I suppose," she says curtly. All heartfelt, confused sobbing from yesterday has disappeared. She's still the same Kiyoko that makes us memorise dumbass definitions and lectures us on historical theatre.

_But still, the way she was crying yesterday…_

There's an emotional little girl under the hard shell that is Kiyoko. There's a Shimizu who saw _Les Misérables_ when she was eight or something like that, and decided she wanted to be an actress. There's a little girl who wants to have a drama club full of people who _want_ to be a part of it.

That is something I just notice. She's not hanging out with anybody; she's alone in the cafeteria with nobody sitting with her. Now that's not to say she doesn't have friends – I'm sure she does. (Somewhere. Very far away.) But she doesn't seem the type to hang out with loads of people and joke around.

She doesn't seem to be the type to hang out with _people_ in general. Maybe that's why her social skills are so off and she's so cold to people. Because she doesn't _know_ people.

I think about yesterday, about how after waiting ten minutes for Hitoka to dry Kiyoko's tears and hiding behind a pot plant to avoid detection as the drama club co-managers left, I finally crept inside to collect my phone, which I'd left on one of the chairs that Hitoka and Kiyoko had pushed back to the side of the room where the dusty piano was. I think about how as I had reached it, I accidentally elbowed a bunch of notes on the piano and dissonant music echoed throughout the whole room. I think about suddenly feeling so alarmed at being discovered that I hit behind the piano, coughing quietly as dust fell onto me. I think about opening my phone and clicking the email app and reading Kiyoko's first ever email properly for the first time. I remember thinking how formal and proper Kiyoko spoke to a bunch of teenagers and how in tune and confident with herself she was, but how out of touch with others she was. I remember thinking: this girl – she could do with a little help.

After a moment I decide to take the seat next to her. I watch her gaze leave my face and return to her noodle soup. She begins eating again as if I was never there in the first place. But I am determined to not let the shell of a person Kiyoko is block me out. I am determined to dig away that façade to get to the real person inside.

"So… I was thinking, about drama club…" I breathe slowly as she lifts noodles to her mouth. No matter how carefully I pick my words, no matter how much I prepare them, they end up tumbling out in a mess. I don't have this problem with – say, Daichi. "I know you're not … _impressed_ with the current – ah, state of things."

I pause as I watch Kiyoko's chopsticks freeze mid-air to her mouth. I can imagine the gears grinding in her impeccable mind of hers. I imagine her wondering whether I heard her crying or not, and then the slight alarm that shows in her eyes dies down and I see that she thinks _no, he can't have_.

"There is nothing to be impressed about," she snaps. _Calm down,_ I want to snap back, barely stopping myself from rolling my eyes. _I'm only trying to help._

"Exactly," I say quickly. "The club is in a bit of disarray right now. There's a lot to improve."

She doesn't disagree, but merely stares at me over her glasses. "The disorder is to be blamed on _you_ members. You are the ones not attending my meetings, not listening or taking notes during my lessons, nor doing the homework I assign."

She sounds mad. _Really_ mad. I hurriedly add, "Yes! Of course, the mess that the drama club is in right now is definitely because of us. But only partly! I think …" I hesitate, expecting her to explode. "I think, it's also partly _your_ fault as well."

I wince, fully predicting my fragile life to end right here and now, but I only receive an emotionless expression. Kiyoko is unfazed. "Explain."

"Th-The duty of the manager is to make sure the members _want_ to stay members, right?" I say, hoping it doesn't sound too similar to what Hitoka said yesterday.

Kiyoko sets down her chopsticks. She is all business right now. She says, "Actually, as said in the Karasuno Clubs Rule Book, the manager of a club only has to attend meetings, create schedules and make reasonable decisions to benefit the entire club. There is no obligation to entertain, or make members _enjoy_ their time in the club."

Frustrated, I say as gently as I can, "That's not what I _mean_. It's not a _written_ thing. It's unspoken, but it's there. A leader's no good unless his followers want to follow him. You can't be manager of a club with a bunch of unwilling guys. They have to enjoy it."

Kiyoko is not having it. "I cannot _force_ them to enjoy what somebody else forced them to join."

"Duh," I say. "You can't make someone like something. But you _can_ show them the good side. Give them fun stuff. Help them enjoy what _you_ enjoy. Make drama club fun for everybody." I sigh, blinking exhaustion away. I didn't sleep very much last night. "You can't force love. But you can persuade it."

She looks unconvinced. "But, _how_?"

"I-I have an idea."


	4. Character Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _-ˏˋ character development ˎˊ-_
> 
> “ _The evolution and growth of a character as a play progresses._ ”

There are two types of people in the world who react to situations differently. " _It happened_ " people and " _what if something else did?_ " people. People who move on with life after things happen, and people who dwell on them and wonder what could have happened if something else did.

Have you ever spent, like, _ages_ planning something – like a wedding, or a birthday present, or a party? Then you'll know how stressful it is thinking about all the variables, as if it's a science experiment: _oh, will Daichi enjoy this? Will Asahi be scared of this?_ And when everything's finally been prepared and everything on the list has been checked off and everything seems to be going in the right direction, there's the thought of: " _Yeah, but what if?_ "

What if something goes wrong? What if the plan crashes and burns? What if I make a fool of myself and the weekend-long discussions with Kiyoko were all for nothing? What if the drama club was destined for dereliction? What if it's a car fated to collide into a wall, and I'm doing all I can do to cause it to brake?

I'm definitely the sort of person to think, " _What if it turned out like this instead_?" though I try not to be. I try not to be the second type of person who'll waste their life lingering over mistakes instead of moving forward to fix them. But fighting your nature is like fighting off sleep when exhaustion has long since claimed you.

I guess pre-event _what ifs_ are better than post-event _what ifs_ , by which I mean considering the hypotheses before something happens is better than stressing over something that's already passed. My _what ifs_ about what I'm planning to do to the drama club with Kiyoko aren't all that bad – if people didn't think about happened before they did, they'd be impulsive and foolish. I just hope that if the drama club falls to shit, I won't be the post- _what if_ person, wondering about how it could've turned out better.

"What if nobody likes what we do?" Kiyoko asked concernedly on Saturday, over email. (Don't ask me why she refuses to get with the times and start texting or calling or _something_. She prefers the old fashioned method of email.) It's one of the few times I've heard her voice portray emotion other than anger or sternness.

"They will," I send back. "I promise." _They have to._

You're probably wondering, "Hey, Suga, why _are_ you helping Kiyoko anyway? There's nothing in it for you. What are you _doing_? Shouldn't you be fixing your parent's marriage?"

The thing is: as much as I'd like to think so, I'm not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. I'm sure I'm a good person at heart (probably), but this isn't something I'd normally do. I'm not helping her because I'm the Good Samaritan of Karasuno High. I think … I think I help her because I feel bad for her. Because I'd want someone else to do the same to me if I was in her shoes. That might be a dumb reason, but it's good enough for me.

And about the parent thing: I'm sure I've as much as I can now. After Daichi and I sent the email to Ikkei Counselling, we've just been waiting for a reply. There's not much else I can do. Inside, I think I expect my parents to be adults. To help themselves. I _want_ to help my parents, but I also _want_ them to be able to do it themselves. Maybe it's selfish of me. Maybe it's selfish of _them_. But all I can do now is wait for the response from Ikkei Counselling.

It's Monday morning. There's not a soul in the world that I know who likes Monday mornings. It's the end of the weekend, the end of fun, and the start of another boring-ass week of _school_ or _work_. "Only masochists like Monday mornings," Daichi once said, one awful Monday, when we had a maths test first period.

I can't help but agree with Daichi as my alarm begins ringing at the ungodly time of six thirty, and I'm forced to wake up and get out of the warm embrace of my bed. I see out of my window that the sun, a tiny, shimmering speck from afar, has barely risen into the purplish morning sky. I hear birds in the distance calling one another (probably screeching, "Hey, we should scream to disturb the humans," in bird-speak.) It should be illegal for anyone to have to wake up this early.

Rolling out of bed and traipsing down the stairs is all a blur to me, because of more pressing matters floating inside my head. _Drama club. Drama. Club._

When I walk downstairs, I'm surprised at the sight of the dining table, where Mum and Dad sit together silently. It's always been way too big for the three of us, and always kind of looks a little lonely, even if all three of us are seated on its fancy chairs. Dad likes luxury, though – that's probably why we have such a massive dining table. It makes him feel important.

"Good morning, sweetie," my mum says to me. Dad just grunts in greeting, staring at his plate. Mum ignores him and asks, "Would you like any food?"

Why are they sitting together? Have they noticed _me_ noticing _them_? Are they still trying to keep up the facade of a happy, loving couple?

"No thanks, mum, I've got to blast," I say apologetically. "Got drama club this morning."

" _Drama club_ ," Mum says, clicking her fingers together and nodding. " _That's_ where you've been heading off to all this time. You didn't say!"

"Oh," I say, flushing red. The truth is, drama club has never been that important to me until now. I never had the need or desire to mention it to either of my parents.

"Drama club…" Dad says, throwing his two cents in. He sounds hesitant, uncomfortable. "Isn't that a bit…"

He trails off, not wanting to continue.

My dad's never been the most _open minded_ person out there. He's not sexist or homophobic, but he won't exactly oppose those who are either. He believes in traditional gender roles in society. I mean, his marriage is an example of it. What he doesn't understand is discarded and seen as unimportant. He can't understand a woman wanting a job, or a boy wearing a skirt. He never understood when I wanted to read instead of play sports. He never understood me preferring Disney musicals to his action movies. He was grossed out by Daichi and I, two boys, being affectionate in a friendly way. And he can't even understand his son being in a drama club. Never mind that said son didn't want to be in the club in the first place and he won't even take the time to find out the details behind it. _Son_ and _theatre_ don't belong in the same sentence to him.

"A bit what, Dad?" I question. For some reason, I'm fired up today. So _what_ if I'm in drama club, Dad? A fire burns in my chest. I feel angry, powerful. I feel like _Daichi_ when he gets angry.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

I can't be put out that easily. "No, seriously, tell me–"

"Koushi," Mum interrupts. "Shouldn't you leaving for drama club?"

 _Why do you take his side?_ I think abruptly. Why does she choose to still stand behind him, if she's unhappily married with him? I can't understand either of my parents. Not one bit.

I hike my bag up my shoulders. "Yeah, I should. Bye, Mum, Dad."

I make sure to slam the door on my way out.

My parents … they infuriate me so much. They're grown adults, and they can't even fix their own goddamn marriage. My mum, so strong and bold against most people, crumbles at my dad and won't stand up to him. Won't get a job. Won't pursue her talent for, what did she say she did when she was young? Art? Painting? And _my dad_. His views on the world are narrower than his nose. I laugh bitterly, imagining if my dad knew about who I am. If I told him that I'm _gay_ , that I want to kiss boys. He might have a heart attack.

_Whatever. You have more important things to worry about._

The drama club and how we could make its members stay – these problems swirl in my mind as I make my way through the cherry blossom-lined streets and leaf-laden roads to the bus stop. The anxiety and worry threaten to constrict my breathing. I've never been a nail-biter, but now I find myself chewing on them, stressed.

I greet Daichi when I arrive but obviously without the same enthusiasm, because he seems to notice and gives me a questioning look.

"Are you okay, Suga?" he asks, brow furrowed with concern.

"Yep." _Nope._

Daichi raises an eyebrow, concerned. "You _sure_?"

I try not to meet his eyes. "Of course." _Not._

I feel Daichi's hand press against my forehead. "You're hot."

Refraining from winking at him and saying " _Yeah I am_ ," I swat his hand away. "I'm fine." _I'm really not._

"All right," he says, but by his frown, I can tell he is unconvinced.

We board the bus when it arrives, late (as usual.) Asahi's there, studying for some test that's coming up in a month or two, (as usual.) Daichi and Asahi make small talk as the bus rocks its way through the suburbs of Rosevale and to the city's border, where Karasuno is, but I stay silent for the entire bus ride, mulling over what I've planned with Kiyoko. Worrying thoughts of _what if she says this wrong_ or _what if nobody attends the meeting_ threaten to consume me from the inside out. I attempt to quash these worrying ideas down, but my thoughts are elastic. No matter how much I try and supress them, they'll keep springing back up.

When we get to school, the tension in my body is at a high. I find it difficult to breathe as I check my watch.

_OK. Seven-fifteen._

"Let's go to drama club," I say, trying to keep the agitation out of my voice by feigning excitement.

Daichi looks at me curiously. "That is the most enthusiastic I've ever heard someone say those words."

"Bet nobody will be there," Asahi sighs, rubbing his eyes. "There's really no use to go to drama club anymore. It's honestly gone to shit."

_Not. Yet._

"Come on," I say, taking their hands in mine. "Drama club."

They have no reply to me as I drag the two of them on our way to the gym. We narrowly avoid getting pummelled by soccer balls as we traipse through the field, but we make it out alive. Inside the gym, Kiyoko and Hitoka are already there, along with young Mr Takeda and a single, bored-looking boy who, even though he's in second year, seems to be bald. I've never really taken note of him (what is his name again?) but I'm glad that someone other than my friends and Shouyou and Tobio.

That's when Daichi notices something. "No chairs?" he asks aloud, frowning at the chair-less scene.

And it's true; the hard, plastic, red chairs that numb your ass are nowhere to be seen. Instead, Bored Bald Boy sits, cross-legged, on the floor, looking a little confused but still uninterested. It's not only him sitting though: Kiyoko, Hitoka and Mr Takeda all sit on the gym floor. It's one of the things I told Kiyoko she could change. If we all sat down on the floor, then it'd seem more like an actual club meet-up instead of a school lesson. (Plus they hurt your butt a _lot_.)

"Different approach this time," Kiyoko says from below us, and for the first time _ever_ she smiles. She's sitting with Hitoka, legs spread out. She has a lot less papers by her side, and her infamous clipboard with the roll and whatever else she writes on it is gone.

"What the fuck?" Asahi whispers as we sit down. "She just smiled. She just _smiled_."

I can't help but giggle. It _is_ admittedly a little weird to see her smile. Maybe a _lot_ weird. But it's nicer than seeing her scowl. She even looks quite pretty with a smile on her face.

For a second, I shoot her a look. I try and say, " _You okay?_ " with a glance, and I hope the message travels across. Her smile falters for a second and she nods back seriously.

Next arrives everybody's favourite dynamic duo, Shouyou and Tobio, who come in arguing loudly and snapping at one another. They're so engrossed in bickering that they don't notice the lack of seats until they reach us. They stop, bewildered. We stare blankly up at them and they stare blankly up at us.

"The – the – _what_?" Shouyou splutters.

Tobio shoots a suspicious, untrusting look at Kiyoko, who smiles calmly back. That was something else we'd worked on. "I know you don't like some people in the drama club," I said on email on Saturday, "but just be kind to them when they're rude. Eventually, they'll come around. Most people can't stand being rude to people who are nice to them. They'll grow to like you. Maybe you'll grow to like them."

Kiyoko and Tobio have a staring contest for a bit, a venomous, acidic glare matched with a friendly, happy smile.

Finally Tobio loses, sighing and looking away. "At least we won't have to get reconstructive ass surgery anymore."

The two of them sink to the floor.

As soon as they do, Kiyoko exhales. _It's happening_ , I think. She's going to do it.

She sends me a timid look. I nod slowly. "Do it," I think. "I believe in you."

"Good morning, everyone," Kiyoko says. She picks up some of the papers and shuffles them, picking one out in particular. I know what's written there. (I know because I helped write it.) In her hands are the things she and I wrote over the weekend, the things she'd say, what she'd do. She glances at it for a second before taking another breath.

 _Come on, kid_ , I think.

"I hope everyone had a great weekend," she continues, brushing her long black hair out of her bespectacled eyes. Her words sound a little tense, because she knows what's coming next. "So I would like to say something about the quality of the drama club. I know it has not been very enjoyable or educational for anybody, and I accept that it's partly my fault."

This is a hard thing for her to admit, I know. I know she'd rather think that she was doing an exceptional job as co-manager.

Around me, people are shooting each other puzzled looks. They're all mystified. Even Hitoka looks confused. Obviously Kiyoko didn't discuss this with Hitoka beforehand. Huh? Kiyoko – accepting blame for something? Is it Opposite Day? Is she okay?

While people send each other baffled expressions, I'm still waiting for Kiyoko to say the rest of what we discussed. If we still had those awful red seats, I'd be on the edge of it right now. _You can do this. Just a few more words._

"And … and I want to say that I apologise for being a less than exemplary manager," she says seriously. If people were confused at Kiyoko taking blame for something, they're shell-shocked at her apology.

Her gaze flickers over the crowd to me, and I nod at her encouragingly. _Keep going_ , I say in mind.

"I know I haven't been kind or understanding at all about you guys, _or_ Yachi. But I've had some chats with people and …" she hesitates, not knowing what to say next. She's abandoned the script we wrote for her which not only irritates me because I spent _hours_ on that, but also pleases me because it seems more genuine now. "And I'm prepared to start again. I know it's been three weeks since our first meeting, but I'm ready to put that all behind us. I hope you guys are too."

She breathes freely once again, the apology finally off her shoulders. She's met with baffled looks. Everyone – except me, of course – was expecting more boring lectures. No one expected this.

I stand and make my way to Kiyoko and Hitoka, making them stand up. Hitoka yelps as I drag her upward. I speak, determined to not let this all go to waste. "I agree with Kiyoko. Drama club was a disaster the past few weeks … but I think if we all work together we can make it something worthwhile. Theatre, at its heart, is meant to be _fun_. We can make it fun. I believe in us."

Nobody responds. Daichi looks at me, marvelled.

"Plus, if we do that drama competition, it means time off school," I add sheepishly.

I'm met with a cheer. Shouyou is so excited that he punches the air. He hops up and jumps to my side. I stare at him, a little surprised. He chirps, "Less Fukuda math class means more happiness for me! I'm all for this restarting drama stuff."

Daichi joins in. He stands and reaches my side and bumps my shoulder, smiling softly at me. "I'm sure if we all try, drama can be a rewarding experience."

The others take a little more convincing. "Come on, Asahi," I beckon. After a moment's reluctance, he gets to his feet and lumbers awkwardly over to us.

The bald guy, perhaps inspired by Shouyou's enthusiasm, shows the most emotion he ever has in the whole three weeks of knowing him. He springs to his feet and gives us a wicked grin. "Guess I'm in. As long as _you're_ still the manager, Shimi," he says to Kiyoko and winks at her. She rolls her eyes.

"Ryu, go _die_ ," she says, though it's not all laced with venom.

The boy named Ryu grins cheekily back. "You know you love me."

 _Hmm,_ I think. Obviously they know each other. Maybe they're in the same class.

Everybody's standing now, except grumpy Tobio. We all turn to look at him. He's stubbornly rooted to his position on the floor, arms crossed and face scrunched up. He glowers back at us, managing to still look intimidating even if he's sitting down at half the height of everybody standing up.

"Come on, Kageyama," Shouyou whines.

"Extracurricular school groups look good on a college application," I tell Tobio. Something tells me he's the studious type that actually gets study done (unlike Asahi.) "Plus remember what the principal says: can't do the entrance exams for colleges unless you're in one."

He grunts. "Fine."

Shouyou pulls him up and he's beaming at Tobio. Tobio rolls his eyes.

It's nice for the eight of us to stand up. My eyes glance over at everyone – the cool, proud Kiyoko; the short, perky Hitoka; the equally short, lively Shouyou; the irate, bored Tobio; the anxious, massive Asahi; and _Daichi_ , brilliant Daichi, who has a knowing smile on his face when he turns to look at me, who _knows_ I had something to do with this.

It's not the whole drama club, but it's a start.

Even though it's only half of the whole Karasuno drama club who has gathered, even though we haven't even done any _real_ theatre yet – I'm elated. I can't help the uplifting feeling rising up in my chest. The anxiety that had taken root in the pit of my stomach this morning has been uprooted by the happiness and hope flowering in my chest.

Kiyoko shoots me a look that a hundred words could never have said. Big eyes and a faint smile say gratitude, kindness, respect, for all the help I gave this weekend – these are all said to me in a matter of seconds. I nod back.

"Okay, guys," Kiyoko says, suddenly businesslike. "We've got a lot of work to do if we want to compete in the Rosevale drama competition in December. First, we need to learn some theatre terms." Everybody groans and she holds up a hand to silence them. " _Don't_ worry, it won't be as awful as last time. I've arranged a sort of game for us soon, to help us learn."

"As long as you don't get unnecessarily angry at us again," Tobio sneers.

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. "If anybody's unnecessarily angry, it's _you_ , mop head."

Tobio's hands immediately jump defensively to his hair, and he's flushed red in fury and embarrassment. "My hair _does not look like a mop–_ "

"It really does–"

For once, everyone's laughing in drama club, and it's not at Hitoka. For once drama club doesn't seem like a chore, something I've been forced to go to. For once, drama club makes me smile.

"Only masochists like Monday mornings," Daichi once said.

Guess I'm a masochist then. Or Daichi was wrong. Because I'm _really_ enjoying _this_ Monday morning.

 

⟡

 

"Hey, guys. I'm Ryu, and I have equal attraction to both Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson, which makes viewing Marvel movies a real treat," he says proudly. He smirks and stretches, his proclamation silencing the rest of us.

The eight of us – the six drama club members, and the two co-managers – sit in a small circle. Seven pairs of eyes stare at him. The classroom of D5 is silent as we process the information that he just threw upon us.

"What?" he says, obviously confused by our responses, or lack thereof. "Don't tell me you guys wouldn't bang both of them if you were bisexual too."

Ryu Tanaka is … a strange specimen. From considering him to be uninteresting and perpetually bored, I've seen him explode into life, an unstoppably loud force that won't shut up during meetings. I watch his lean build stretch and bend as he waits for us to reply. That bald head of his must contain a whole lot of _noise_. Another thing: he always makes strange expressions. They sometimes creep me out.

"Tanaka," Kiyoko sighs. She's sitting in between Hitoka and I, glaring at Tanaka, who's opposite her. "That is not what I meant by _introduce yourself_."

Ryu merely shrugs. "I did. Kind of."

We've been at this for a few minutes now. It's actually kind of funny to get to know each other. Asahi introduced himself as _really likes Disney movies_ , while Daichi presented himself as _hates pineapple on pizza_. I introduced myself as _likes reading_ (because I'm boring.) We're up to Ryu's turn, and he's just thrown this bombshell on us.

However, I can relate. I'm not straight either. Even if I'm not going to let him now, it feels nice to be around another queer person. It feels good. It makes me feel like I belong.

"Well," I say slowly. "It _did_ help us get to know you better. That's the whole point of the exercise, isn't it Kiyo?" I turn to her.

She twists her mouth, unimpressed. "I guess. Your turn, Kageyama."

"It's _Tobio_ ," the boy bites, brow creased.

Tobio's another odd person. Rather differently from Ryu, my first impression of him hasn't changed one bit. With a soul as dark as his hair, he's still as sullen, bad-tempered and irritable as the first day I saw him. What baffles me is why he sticks to Shouyou, who's almost the opposite of him. Shouyou is short and sweet and is constantly happy. While Tobio has a permanent scowl, Shouyou wears his smile like a tattoo. They're cheese and chalk, fire and water, Android and iPhone. They're as different as can be. Tobio acts like he can't stand the other boy; so why are they so close?

Kiyoko isn't having any of his shit. She raises an eyebrow and repeats, "It's your turn, _Kageyama_."

Ryu laughs. Tobio furiously shoots him a look.

Tobio shakes his fringe out of his eyes angrily. "Fine. I'm Tobio Kageyama and…" He turns his head to look at Ryu sitting beside him. "And I think Chris Evans and Scarlet Johansson are really ugly. And that Marvel movies suck."

" _Guys_ ," Kiyoko says as Ryu flares up and attempts to attack Tobio. (Hitoka has to hold Ryu back.) "Our introduction to ourselves should _not_ based on our opinion of Chris Evans's and Scarlet Johansson's looks."

She looks stressed and upset. This is not going to plan.

Quickly, before she can go full Kiyoko and explode and ruin all chances of the drama club flourishing, I whisper to her, "Try the fear game. That'll be fun."

She leans in and nods. "Okay." She breathes once. _Good. Stay calm._ "Guys, we're going to try to test out how well we know each other now."

"But I didn't even get to introduce myself–" Shouyou begins.

"That's a shame," Kiyoko says swiftly and I snort at her bluntness. "But we should get started on the game. Hey, Hitoka, could you get those slips of paper and hand them out please? Yep, those ones. And the pens too. Thank you."

Hitoka begins giving the six boys a slip of blank paper and a pen each.

She explains the game to us, though she doesn't need to explain it to me, as I helped make it up with her. The Fear Game, as we so creatively christened, is just a simple little game, where everybody writes down their biggest fear on their own paper. When we're finished, the papers are collected and then distributed again. Everybody has someone else's paper now, and we take it in turns to act out the fear. When somebody guesses it correctly, the next thing is to guess whose fear it is.

Kiyoko and I thought it was a creative little game to get to know each other even better. Plus it'll be the first actual _drama_ we'll ever do in drama club.

"Okay, everybody write down their biggest fear," Kiyoko says. "Don't be embarrassed; everybody has to write their own too. I don't think it'll take more than a minute."

"This is going to be really hard for Asahi to write his biggest fears," Daichi mutters. "It's going to take more than a minute to list every single thing in the world."

Asahi responds with a smack on Daichi's arm.

(I love them.)

The pen Hitoka handed to me is broken so I ask to borrow Daichi's when he's done. I watch him as he scribbles on the little piece of paper. I wonder what he writes, and find that curiosity burns in the pit of my stomach. I don't even know what he's writing on the paper – we're best friends, so is that bad? Is it bad that I don't know his biggest fear, or has it just never come up in conversation?

When he finishes, he hands the pen to me. And now I wonder what _I'm_ going to write.

I can't write, _my parents divorcing_.

I can't write, _Daichi and Asahi leaving me for someone else._

I can't write, _never finding love._

I can't write any of these, but these are all my biggest fears. They're all connected. What's the root of them, what's the associating factor? What is the bigger, general picture? How do I summarise these? What is my _biggest fear_?

Confusion prods at my mind like a burning hot poker.

"Hurry up, Koushi," Kiyoko snaps. "We're all waiting for you."

" _Calm_ down," I mutter below my breath, before scribbling down a word on the paper. I stare it until I'm satisfied and then I hand it to Hitoka.

Hitoka awkwardly shuffles the papers and then begins handing them back out again, before Shouyou says, "This is my paper."

Everybody sighs. Kiyoko grunts, annoyed. Hitoka sheepishly snatches it back up and then shuffles it once more. Finally, she begins handing them out properly. The paper I receive is written in an unfamiliar but quite neat handwriting, which reads " _Losing._ "

I look around at the other five boys. Whose paper could it be?

"You first, Hinata, since you were so excited to speak before," Kiyoko says, though it's not entirely spiteful. "Stand over there and perform to us. Remember, _no words_."

Shouyou blushes deeply as he gets up. He's incredibly short and is only a little taller than Asahi when Asahi's sitting down.

Then the weirdest thing happens. He begins shaking around uncontrollably and making strange gestures. He runs around the room wildly and everybody, including him, laughs. What the hell could the thing he's acting out be? It's definitely not my fear, that's for sure.

Ryu says, "Seizures?"

"Strokes!" I suggest.

Shouyou shakes his head. His face twists in concentration. It looks like he's wondering how else he could act it out. Then, he comes to a conclusion.

He takes the files and folders that belong to Kiyoko and begin tossing them around. He doesn't stop there though; he dashes about the room, knocking tables and chairs over as people shout out guesses. Kiyoko makes a muffled sound of protest and I laugh.

"It's part of the game," I say, putting a placating hand on her arm.

Kiyoko rolls her eyes. "Fine."

Shouyou has run out of tables and chairs to knock over. He kicks more of Kiyoko's papers.

"Disorder?" someone guesses.

"Mess!"

Shouyou rolls his hand in a _keep going_ motion.

Asahi finally guesses, " _Chaos_!"

Shouyou grins and puts two thumbs up. "Yes!"

Kiyoko claps her hands together once and says, "Now we have to guess whose fear it is. Who could it be?"

The six boys stare at one another. I can only think of Daichi's neat little bedroom, his straightforward approach to things, his orderly lifestyle and his dislike of loss of control. I just never knew that he was _afraid_ of chaos.

"Uh… is it Daichi's?" I say tentatively.

He coughs, obviously embarrassed. "Yes, it's mine."

And the game continues on like that. Daichi mimes dying to a bullet wound to act out Ryu's fear of death; Asahi gets up on his tippy-toes and reaches as high as he can with his hand. It takes us _fucking forever_ to finally guess "heights."

"How is that meant to be heights?" I ask, laughing hard.

"Shut up, shorty."

"Whose fear do you think it is?" Kiyoko asks us all.

"It's Hinata's," Tobio says immediately. Shouyou sends him a look (of what, I don't know) and from that moment I come to respect them as friends. Even if I don't understand how, they still are friends and it's not my place to judge. They're obviously a lot closer than I thought they were.

It's Ryu's turn. As soon as he stands up, I can tell he's made for the stage. Not only is he incredibly confident but also the exaggeration he makes in his actions as he proudly stalks into the area where the others had acted makes me think, _damn. He's a real actor._ He's obviously imitating somebody, inserting himself into a character. He sticks his nose up in the air and everybody giggles as he suddenly becomes furious and starts mime-shouting at an imaginary person. Then he begins walking around with a solemn expression, imaginary binder and books hugged to his chest.

The actions are familiar. _Really_ familiar.

I'm giggling when I say, "Is that … is that Kiyoko?"

Everybody bursts into louder laughter except Kiyoko herself. Even Hitoka can't keep herself from giggling into her palm. Ryu grins wickedly and says, "Yep!"

No guessing whose fear that is. Everybody turns to Asahi, who's blushing a deep scarlet red. The laughter hasn't stopped yet.

"I didn't know what to put!" he says defensively.

" _Your turn, Koushi_ ," Kiyoko says through gritted teeth. She's a little annoyed about Ryu's impression of her.

Losing. _Losing._ Losing. How can I act out _loss_?

I end up miming kicking a soccer ball, and then getting sad when I don't win. Obviously I'm not the greatest actor and people are confused.

"Soccer? Someone's scared of soccer?"

"Obviously it's football that they're afraid of–"

I shake my head vigorously. I try and act out losing a race by staggering and reaching the finish line very slowly. I act distraught.

" _This_ one is seizures," Tobio remarks.

"I agree with you on this one," Ryu replies.

I give up, defeated. This is difficult. I inspect the room, wondering if I can pull a Shouyou and go for an entirely different approach. I see Ryu looking at me curiously and I see that shirt of his peek out of his jacket.

An idea lights up in my head.

I beckon him over and when he walks over (always with swagger), I reach over and unzip his jacket.

"If I knew you felt this way earlier…" Ryu says cheekily.

I kick him in the shin, and then point dramatically at the _Lost_ logo on his shirt. I gesture theatrically to the words on his shirt when nobody seems to understand. Come on!

"Lost … _loss_?" Daichi thinks aloud. _Bless you for understanding, Daichi_.

"Close enough. _Losing_ ," I say excitedly and then sit back down, exhausted after my excessive movement. "Now we guess whose fear it is?"

There's no need to guess. There's only you and Tobio left, and you can't be acting your own," Kiyoko tells me.

 _Oh._ I hadn't noticed. The only one left to perform is Tobio and nobody's performed my fear yet, so…

Kiyoko tells Tobio to go up and act out the last fear. I breathe in sharply as he begins, suddenly anxious. What will people think of me? How embarrassing is this!

He simply acts out my biggest fear by sitting down in the centre and slouching. His head is bent forward so his fringe hangs over his eyes. He looks sad, but not in a distressed or upset manner. Just in a _miserable_ way. He manages to convey emotion with just a position.

Ryu isn't the only good actor, I guess.

It doesn't take long for someone to guess " _loneliness_."

That's my biggest fear. Ever. _Loneliness_. Being abandoned. Being left on my own. It's manifested in so many different forms; clinginess, the constant need for validation, and the determination to fix my parent's marriage. I'm scared of being left behind. I'm scared of being by myself.

I'm scared of myself.

Kiyoko ends the meeting there, because lunch is about to end. She thanks us for making it so fun and smacks Ryu for his over-the-top impersonation of her and reminds us of Thursday's meeting.

I'm barely paying any attention as everybody leaves, chatting excitedly. All I can think about is my two people concept. _It happened_ people, and _what if_ people.

I'm such a _what if_ person, even if I don't like it. ( _What if_ Daichi leaves me? _What if_ my parents divorce? _What if_ I never find somebody to love?)

I think about if I _had_ been given the chance to introduce myself to the drama club.

"Hi. My name's Koushi Sugawara. I'm a _what if_ person. I'm afraid of being alone. And I'm afraid of myself."

 

⟡

 

What's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you, like _ever_? Think really hard. Tons of weird things probably have happened to you in your life. Did you have a near-death experience? Did you run into an old friend that you haven't seen for years and years? Did you fall in love with someone you never expected to? For me, the weirdest thing that's ever happened is this: That people are starting to enjoy the drama club. Like, _really_ enjoy.

It started with Kiyoko's introduction circle and also the Fear Game, but continues with the stupidly genius game that I came up with Kiyoko over the weekend.  
On Thursday, the six members from Monday's – Daichi, Asahi, Shouyou, Tobio, Ryu and I – plus the two co-managers meet up in the music room at school. Kiyoko and Hitoka push the chairs to the side. There's a huge space for us to sit down. Kiyoko waits for us to file in and sit cross-legged on the floor. Then she surprises all of us but me with a bright red rubber ball pulled out of her pocket.

She says, dead serious, "Imagine this is a flaming hot ball of fire. You cannot hold it for more than ten seconds without dying."

Tobio makes a face. "That's stupid. You're holding it right now and you're not dying."

"Girls are immune," she tells him, eyebrows raised.

"That's even stupider–"

Ryu silences him by placing a hand on Tobio's mouth. "Continue, Kiyo."

"I'll say a theatre term and throw the ball at someone, and whoever catches the ball has to give the definition in ten seconds," Kiyoko says. "Like _this_ : dress rehearsal!"

She tosses the ball to Tobio, who catches the ball with one hand. Unenthusiastic, he looks at the ball in his hand and scowls.

"Remember, the ball is _burning_ ," Kiyoko reminds him. "You'll die in ten seconds."

"Obviously it's not burning–"

Kiyoko frowns. "Imagination is key in theatre. You cannot have a good play without creativity and imagination."

Tobio still looks unimpressed.

Kiyoko takes out a bag of cookies from her school bag and waves it around. "Plus, dead people can't eat cookies!"

Everybody is suddenly a whole lot more excited, because the promise of food is involved. Even Tobio looks a little more interested.

"Fine," he says. "It's when all the actors and actresses dress up in their costumes and rehearse as if it was the day of the actual show."

"Correct," Kiyoko says, smiling. "Now toss the ball to someone else and give them a different theatre term to give the definition to."

Tobio smirks and throws the ball to Shouyou. "What's _striking the stage_ , Hinata?"

"Screw you, that's a hard one!"

The game goes on and on, people catching and recalling definitions of theatre terminology. It's hilarious how pumped and excited we are because of the promise of cookies if we don't lose the game. Even though the game is fun and it's especially enjoyable after watching Asahi accidentally peg the ball at Tobio's face, I feel like we're learning. People stop hesitating. The game is paced quicker. We answer faster. We're _learning_. We're growing.

After a while of tossing and recalling, someone knocks the door to the music room. Everybody stops playing and turns to look at the door, confused. The door creaks open slowly and in come three boys whom I vaguely recognise as three members of the drama club who never attend meetings.

Ryu looks excited. He obviously knows them. "You guys came!"

"Uh… hi," says the tallest of the three of them. He has a shaved head like Ryu (ugh, it must be some dumb phase that the Sophomores are going through.)

"We're … um, members of the drama club … and we're wondering … uh–"

Another one pipes up. He's got spiky, wild hair and large, cat-like eyes. "We're wondering if you'll let us attend the meetings again."

"We know we – um – unofficially left the club before and haven't attended in a while," the shortest of them all says. He runs a hand through his parted black hair. "But we've been told about how it's changed and we … we'd like to join back."

Kiyoko raises her eyebrows. "And your names are?"

The tallest introduces himself as Kazuhito. While he looks a little like Ryu, he's a lot quieter and more composed. The second one, Chikara, looks friendly but kind of sleepy, with parted dark hair and dark eyes. The last one is Hisashi, the one with spiky brown hair and luminous eyes. He's a little more outgoing than the other two, going so far to wave a little at Ryu. All of them look absolutely terrified of Kiyoko.

"Okay. Good afternoon, Kazuhito, Chikara and Hisashi," she says, writing their names down on her clipboard. "We're just in the middle of playing a game of Catch and Recall. Care to join us?"

_What?_

I gawk, absolutely stunned. _What_? Where's Kiyoko's screeches, or her scolding, or her frigid, icy stares? Where's the old Kiyoko

They're hesitant at first, just as confused as I am as to why Kiyoko isn't becoming furious at them, but join quietly.

While they don't know any of the terms, they seem to grow more accustomed to and finally have fun as the game progresses. They join in the laughter when Asahi again accidentally pegs the rubber ball at Tobio.

"Sorry!" Asahi says, genuinely concerned. "It was an accident!"

"Accidents don't happen twice," Tobio grumbles, rubbing the side of his head.

The game continues. We're learning. Maybe the three newcomers even learn what the basic definitions are. The terms get weirder – _glossophobia, personification_ – and Kiyoko calls the end of the day, because lunch is going to end in ten minutes.

"We might even do some actual acting tomorrow!" Kiyoko tells us.

As we all walk out toward the grassy fields to enjoy the last few minutes of lunch, I hear Ryu chatting excitedly to the other three quiet sophomores, Hisashi, Chikara and Kazuhito.

"I can't believe you came," Ryu's saying exuberantly to them, "but I'm really happy that you did! If only Nishinoya came to meetings, then the drama club would have all its members, right, Kiyo?"

"There are still two freshmen, Kei Tsukishima and Tadashi Yamaguchi, who aren't coming," Kiyoko answers. She looks at Shouyou, Tobio and Hitoka. "Those names sound familiar to you?"

Shouyou and Hitoka shake their little heads, but Tobio's scowl deepens. "Yeah. They're in our maths class."

"Not friends of yours, I'm guessing?"

"Kei is a _jerk_ ," Tobio snarls. "Won't shut up about how good he is at _everything_. Plus he walks everywhere with those Somy headphones as if he's cool, and he's _not_ –"

"Oh!" Shouyou says, memories flooding his mind. "I know him! Kageyama hates him because Kei beat him in the maths test."  
Tobio's look is murderous. "It was a half mark–!"

"What about Yamaguchi?" Kiyoko interrupts.

"Oh, he's friendly enough," Shouyou says kindly, "but he's very attached to Kei. Does everything with him. Won't do anything without him."

"Do you think you could convince him to join drama club meetings?" Hitoka squeaks. "It'd be great to have more members. You could tell him how it's reformed and changed for the better."

"I don't think he'll listen to me," Shouyou admits. "He doesn't really like me, because I hang out with Kageyama. And he hates Kageyama."

"I would rather _die_ than speak to him willingly," announces Tobio.

Kiyoko sighs. "That goes our chance of recruiting him then."

We go our separate ways once we reach outside. The grassy expanse opens up in front of Daichi, Asahi and I as we stroll through the sunlight and the laughing students. The glittering sky and the fluffy clouds helps lifts my spirits up even higher.

I think about how drama club has changed; how more and more people are coming back, how it's become enjoyable and educational and rewarding. I think about how Kiyoko has changed; how she's becoming kinder and calmer and become a better leader.

Have I changed? At all? Am I still a _what if_ person, afraid of loneliness and my own self? Has Koushi Sugawara changed one single bit?

My reverie is interrupted by the short vibration of my phone in my pocket. Curiously I take it out and read the notification: **1 New Message**.

 _Shit_. My hands are jittery as I unlock my phone and open the mail app. Could it be–?

Yes! It's the email from Ikkei Counselling. I skim read it, the official words and jargon floating in front of my eyes. What I understand from it is that _yes_ , they're open for meetings, but they need to discuss it with me pretty soon first. The only time they're open in the near future is this Friday. It's cutting it pretty tight, but I'm sure I can make it. My heart is _soaring_. Though it doesn't guarantee my parents staying together, it's a stepping stone in repairing my parent's breakaway marriage.

"Daichi, c'mere! Have a look at this," I say, thrusting my phone in his face. His face lights up and then a frown appears on his face.

"This Friday," he says slowly. "That's really close. Can you make it?"

"Yes, I can. Will you come with me? Can you make it?"

"Yeah, duh, I'm free–"

"No, you aren't."

Asahi's voice cuts through the happy atmosphere like a sharp, hard knife. His sudden voice takes Daichi and I by surprise, and we turn to look at him. I'd forgotten he was there.

He doesn't look angry, but he doesn't look happy either. He just looks a little stunned at us. As if he's surprised we would even _say_ that we're free on Friday. I notice that he stands apart from us, staring. The blissful feel from before has dissipated. Something's wrong.

But what?

"Um, what do you mean?" Daichi asks, confused.

Asahi laughs disbelievingly, with no humour. "I can't _believe_ you two. You're meant to be my best friends, but you guys honestly suck–"

"Spit it out," Daichi snaps. I'm not even sure why he's losing his patience. He's obviously not pleased at being called a bad friend. "What's wrong with us doing something on Friday? It's none of your business what we're doing _anyway_."

"What you're planning might not be my business but you guys _forgot_ ," Asahi says, brow furrowed.

I speak up. "Forgot _what_?"

Asahi fold his arms. "Friday's my OSMP performance. You know, the one I've been working for years to attend? The one you promised to attend?"

 _Fuck_. I completely forgot. The problem with my parents, the drama club – all of that's been swirling in my mind. His OSMP performance was at the end of the list of things I had to worry about.

But my _parents_. My parents, who I can only help if I go the meeting with the Ikkei Counselling manager on Friday. My parents, who come before Asahi in every aspect of life.

What really is the worst thing is that if it was my choice to pick between Daichi and my parents, the lines between family and friend would be blurrier. I would hesitate more. I would have no idea which one to put before the other.

I guess this means I prefer Daichi over Asahi.

"Shit, Asahi, I'm sorry, but we have a thing," I stumble. My words aren't forming properly. _Why can't I speak?_ "We can't go–"

"Save. It." He's speaking through gritted teeth. I've never seen him so angry. He's usually the sweetest out of all of us, but he's burning with rage right now. "This always happens anyway."

"What do you mean?" says Daichi roughly.

"Daichi–" I begin, not wanting this turn nasty.

"Let him talk. Come on," he says to Asahi. "I want to hear it."

Asahi balls his fists. Daichi is riling him up, which is _never_ a good thing. "Fine. Fi9zZ ne! You want to hear it? You don't _need_ to hear it. All you need to do is search in that little brain of yours all the times that you've left me to do something with each other instead. Remember my fifteenth birthday party?"

Daichi says defensively, "Hey, Suga actually fell over and broke his arm. I had to take him to hospital that day."

Asahi's glare does not falter. "You didn't even wish me a happy birthday."

"You're so selfish," Daichi scoffs.

But I don't know if _he's_ the one being selfish. It's always been evident between the three of us that Daichi preferred my company, liked spending time with me more than he enjoyed Asahi's company. Same with me preferring Daichi. I just didn't think that it bothered Asahi _this much_.

"Plus, you don't know how many times the two of you have paired up in assignments and made me work by myself. You don't know how many times you two have left me behind," he says, his voice cracking. His anger isn't a raging inferno like Daichi's, or sparking fireworks like mine. His is just a little candle in the rain.

When Daichi's angry, I'm the water to extinguish his flame. But there's nobody here for Asahi to put out his anger, except for his own self. Rain comes in the shape of tears forming in the corners of his eyes. His fury evaporates and he's suddenly crying.

"Asahi–" I say gently, reaching for him.

" _No_ ," he snaps and jerks backward. Now, there's a substantial distance between us. Both physically and metaphorically. We're marooned on an island but Asahi's sailing away steadily on his own raft. (I guess we've always been pushing the raft of his further and further away from us, but it's _now_ when he finally gains his own paddles and begins rowing away.)

I exhale. He's left our island and he's sailed too far to reach.

Daichi hesitates for the first time, his bravado and snappiness disappearing. "Azumane, I–"

He's interrupted by the sound of the bell signifying that lunch is over. People all around us, unaware of the shift in the atmosphere that has shaken my world, begin to walk off to their next class. Daichi, Asahi and I gaze at each other, nonplussed.

"Don't come on Friday," Asahi says. His voice cracks again, with unbridled emotion and feeling. I so badly want to hug him. (But you can't hug somebody who's a million miles away.) "I know you didn't really want to anyway."

And then he turns on his heel and stalks away from us. Daichi and I are left standing there, staring at the empty spot where he was just moments ago. We exchange a look of – what? Guilt? Confusion? Shame? Anger?

Whatever it is that is swirling in my body and threatening for the cookies I just ate to come right back up, it isn't a nice feeling.

Daichi grabs my hand and mutters something about getting to the next lesson. We walk in silence and I'm left alone to my own thoughts.

There aren't two types of people in the world who react to situations differently. I was wrong. It was stupid of me to generalise everybody in the whole world and label them into Group A or B. People aren't like that. People mix and match and mingle and are all unique in their own way.

I don't want to be a _what if_ person. They dwell too much on the past and not enough on the future.

I don't want to be a _it happened_ person. They don't think enough about their past mistakes and learn from them.

I want to find the equilibrium between the past and the future. I want to live for the present, and not for my past mistakes or my future self.

Funnily enough, I go back to thinking about the silly introductions we all made during the second official meeting of the reformed drama club. How I would have introduced myself before and how I would introduce myself now are different.

Hello, everybody. My name is Koushi Sugawara. I don't know what kind of person I am, but I want to be a brave one. I'm still a little afraid of being alone.

But I'm no longer afraid of myself. I am no longer afraid.

I am not afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess whose birthday is on monday!! :))


End file.
